Take Us Out
by KLMeri
Summary: Leonard finds himself in a situation that quickly goes from bad to worse, and it turns out he is the only one who can fix it. Gen.
1. Part One

**Title**: Take Us Out (1/6)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek TOS  
**Characters**: Kirk, Spock, McCoy  
**Summary**: Leonard finds himself in a situation that quickly goes from bad to worse, and it turns out he is the only one who can fix it.  
**A/N**: Well, it's kinda been on my mind all weekend that there needs to be more adventurous McCoy fic. Who says Kirk and Spock get to have all the fun?

* * *

When Leonard volunteered to go along for the ride, he thought he would be coming back. That's a normal expectation, he has to remind himself later, trying not to feel like the galaxy's biggest idiot, while he looks out of the shuttlecraft window at the latest port of call.

"To expect is to forget that the unexpected can happen."

Leonard twitches in his seat, only stalled from stealing a glance at the speaker by his pride. "This is kidnapping."

"Is it?"

"You're damn right it is!" Leonard snaps back, leveling an intense glare at his reflection in the window. "You've kidnapped _Starfleet officers_. Why you want your head on the chopping block is beyond me but let me tell you, you damn fool, you'll be lucky if you get a life sentence at Rura Penthe! When my captain—"

Leonard's captor interrupts the speech to sigh, clearly turning his attention elsewhere, to a man dressed in a standard-issue security uniform picking beneath his nails with a penknife. "Must we continue to listen to this drivel?"

"I asked if you wanted me to knock him out."

"I see now why you did."

Leonard slams his fist down against his seat's armrest, rattling the metal shackle binding him to it. He makes a sound of disgust. "If you think I'll cooperate with you, you're out of your cotton-pickin' mind."

"Would you let her die, then, good doctor?"

Leonard inhales sharply, hating that he can't answer that and not reveal his weakness. Not that that matters, he thinks sourly, when the bastard knows good and well he can't fault a patient for another man's actions—even if that man is the deranged husband of said patient.

"She would have gotten all the help she needs at the Starbase Nine without this—this barbarism," Leonard reasons. "For god's sake, we let you go with her!"

"And I am forever grateful to your captain for that altruistic act—although I cannot say I believed for a moment your Starfleet Command would adhere to the same principles once we were in custody. After all, what did I have to bargain for amnesty? To ensure my wife receives the treatment she must have?"

Leonard's stomach sinks. "I guess that makes me your new bargaining chip."

"This predicament need not turn ugly for you, Doctor McCoy. I only ask that you help preserve my wife's life until I can release you."

But the doctor is shaking his head. "It can't be that simple. It never is."

_You killed two security officers and turned another_, Leonard doesn't say, though the accusation sits heavily on the tip of his tongue. There's a good chance without the addition of that remark he has already made the situation worse for himself. Knowing his thoughts aren't private has prompted him to speak his mind at every turn.

"Ah, I see..." A steady gaze fixes intently on Leonard. "You fear that I will—how did you label my method of persuasion?—perform a 'brainwashing' upon you. That I will wrest away your free will and secure your compliance as I have done to some of your more simple-minded officers. Hm."

Betazoids only smile at someone else's expense, Leonard decides with a near-shiver.

His captor _hmm_s for a moment longer before continuing. "I admit I have considered playing inside your mind. At the very least, I could rid you of that penchant for incessant chatter."

Leonard's fingers subconsciously tighten on the edge of the armrest, a retort flying unbidden out of his mouth. "Well, what's stopping you?"

It isn't meant to be a joke but the Betazoid looses a good-natured laugh anyway. Then the telepath lifts his arm and motions to the eerily calm-faced officer standing to the side watching them. "You may stun him now."

"Yes, sir."

As the young lieutenant Leonard once saw Jim address with a fond regard flips his phaser on and levels it at Leonard's chest, the doctor's eyes burn.

_Damn it,_ he thinks with heartfelt regret. _I might have come up with a plan._

A voice in his head agrees. _I know, Doctor. That is why you must sleep for the time being._

Being stunned in no way induces a natural sleep. Leonard would argue the point but a terrible shock courses through his body, rendering him momentarily mute with pain before shutting off his brain entirely.

[~~~]

The Betazoid watches the human slump to the side, the tendrils of thought captured from that mind dying like withering leaves. The subsequent silence, despite any of his protestations, which envelops the cabin unsettles him. From the small area in the back of the shuttlecraft, where his wife lays feverish, is nothing at all, except a sense of failure. But that failure is all his own. At the peak of health, his wife would have had control over her emotional projections; now, because her control has weakened nearly to the point of non-existence, she chooses to live with an empty mind. Like a shell or a husk. That hurts him the most.

The humans could have saved her. They chose not to, sending her instead to a Federation-operated facility because of _him_. Because he is, unlike most of his peaceful race, a criminal.

How ironic that even as they sentenced her to die while he watched, one of their own begged to come aboard and make certain she survived until the shuttle docked and he was taken prisoner for what truly amounts to petty theft.

No, how _hypocritical_. For that, this doctor will pay a price. He has not decided exactly what he wants to extricate as payment but he assures himself it will surpass his own personal suffering.

Guarding his own mind carefully takes a concerted effort while actively in control of the other minds he had commandeered. But he grows more adept at it as time passes, the strain he feels minimal. The red-shirted officer and shuttle crew bow to his will rather easily.

If his psionic abilities had been acknowledged for what they were, would he be here now, combing through the less civilized reaches of space with his mate? It is precisely those abilities which made it possible for him to hide the arrival of the shuttle at that starbase from its own patrol until the craft could be refueled. It is his strength, his _skill_, that brokered freedom in a desperate situation.

He and Nola have traveled as far as they could, as far as this tiny vessel is able to take them before it must be abandoned. Here, in this little known spaceport by the Neutral Zone, he and his wife will find another way to survive.

For her sake, of course, he has no choice but to take the doctor with them. It's a small consolation that he can be rid of the others. They are a burden.

Suddenly, a hint of alarm skitters across the surface of the pilot's thoughts, causing the Betazoid to still his mind and twist around in his seat.

"What is it?"

"Sir... I'm picking up a signal from another ship."

Annoyance scratches at him. "This is a port _filled_ with ships."

The pilot's mind turns shy with nerves. "We're—we're being hailed, sir."

He freezes the idiot's hand with a thought and tears himself out of his seat's straps to see the console for himself. The ship's computer is oblivious to his power; it does not lie when it says there is an incoming transmission. He allows his finger to hover only momentarily over a blinking blue button.

Releasing the pilot from the icy hold of his control, he gives an order he doesn't dare allow the human to defy. With shaking hands the pilot enters a sequence of commands into the computer. The sequence is accepted and placed on stand-by.

"Now," Leonard McCoy's captor says, resettling himself into the co-pilot's seat, "answer that hail."

"Of course, sir" comes the immediate reply.

Fear lingers in the back of his mind but it is not his own. He is long past fear.

[~~~]

When the computer screen of the shuttle leaps to life, James T. Kirk leans forward in his seat, unaware he has bent the buckle of the strap over his shoulders with the pressure of his hands.

"Captain Kirk," a familiar voice echoes in the cabin of the shuttle _Galileo_, "I can feel your distress from here. How may I assist you?"

For once, Jim is too angry for words.

Spock must sense this, for the Vulcan speaks in Jim's stead. "Mr. Auron, please be advised you are under arrest."

"Arrest?" Laughter filters through the speakers. "But you released me from your brig yourselves!"

Spock's eyebrow might have twitched but his voice stays inflectionless. "Your transfer to a penal colony was not pardoned, Mr. Auron, merely delayed so that your wife might receive the medical aid we did not have the means to provide before her condition became critical. It was a plea you made of us, one which the Captain, in his compassion, granted."

Something in the Betazoid's face shutters closed. "You granted me nothing—quite the mistake on your part."

"Where are my men?" The words burst out of Jim, his tolerance for any verbal byplay gone.

"Your men? I believe they belong to me."

Auron beckons someone off-screen. A face, Lieutenant Yarrows' face, leans into view. He looks the same, unharmed—except for his eyes. In those eyes is nothing remotely resembling the cheerful young man who transferred to the _Enterprise_ seven months ago.

For a moment, Jim doesn't feel like he can speak. Then he manages, "What did you do?"

The Betazoid smiles at them. "Nothing. They defected."

"Mind control, Captain," Spock supplies too softly.

Jim knows. Even if he doesn't want to believe it, he knows and that makes him sick. "My Chief Medical Officer—I want to speak to him."

"Hm. Did you not find him at the starbase, Captain?"

A momentary intense fear grips Jim. They hadn't found McCoy—which had done nothing to alleviate Jim's grief as he identified two bodies in the morgue on the starbase. The starbase's commanding officer had looked sympathetic but offered no comforting words. He had understood, as Jim did, nothing could truly ease that kind of guilt.

_What terrible mistake had he made?_ Jim had thought to himself then. He thinks the same thing now, hating the glint of triumph he sees in the Betazoid's midnight eyes.

"We both know where he is." Jim's voice gains an authoritative edge that has terrified lesser men. "I won't ask again, Auron. Put McCoy on."

Auron looks away, the slight downturn of his mouth causing a severe wrench to Jim's gut. "I suppose one could say the doctor is... indisposed at the moment. He had many things to say, most of which I did not care to hear. How do you stand him?"

A sensation inside Jim alternates between hot and cold. He clings to that last statement, assuring himself, _Bones is alive._

If this were the _Enterprise_ and not a small survey shuttle, he would have already called down to the transporter room to get a lock on McCoy's signal. But his ship might as well be parsecs away, not simply hovering at the edge of their communication range. As it stands, he or the _Enterprise_ shouldn't be in this part of the galaxy at all.

That can't matter. Jim has had flimsier excuses to come this close to the Neutral Zone. Saving his crew—even if only _one_ of them—is a solid reason to risk the wrath of Command. He believes he can find a way around that wrath.

"Are we in transporter range of the _Enterprise_?" he asks Spock, momentarily flipping the communications channel to mute.

"Mr. Scott relayed a message before we attempted to hail the craft. The ship's long-range scanners have been blocked by a signal scrambler we can only assume Auron procured at some junction during his journey. I have confirmed the readings with this vessel's computer. Captain..." Spock pauses. "To transport any living matter from the shuttlecraft would be, at best, 'a blind guess' on Mr. Scott's part. I would not recommend it."

Jim shakes his head slightly. "Can he beam someone on board?"

Spock is silent for just a second too long.

Sitting back in his seat, Jim punches the frequency to re-open the channel with the other shuttle. "Here are my terms, Mr. Auron. If you surrender now and there is no more loss of life or damage done to the hostages, the _Enterprise_ will personally escort your wife back to Starbase Nine for treatment. You, on the other hand, will stay in my brig until a trial can be convened." He draws in a deep breath. "Believe me when I say this is the nicest offer you'll get from me."

For a brief moment, Jim thinks Auron's silence means the deal is being considered. But then the Betazoid smiles at them on the screen.

"You cannot bargain with a desperate man, Captain Kirk." The smile becomes cold, much too cold to signify anything good. "Have your second-in-command scan this vessel."

Spock is already far ahead of that order, and Jim can only wait for an explanation, fearing the way the Vulcan stiffens abruptly in the co-pilot seat.

"Spock?"

"A moment, Captain. _Galileo_ to _Enterprise_. Mr. Scott, I have sent you my readings. Please confirm."

"_Aye, Mr. Spock. I just got 'em, hold on and let me—_" All of a sudden Scotty lets loose a curse, one Jim recognizes the tone of, though not the actual word. His Chief Engineer sounds urgent when his round of cursing dies out. "_Captain, he's set himself to overload! In a matter of minutes—_"

Spock overrides Mr. Scott's harried explanation, turning to address Kirk in a flat tone. "I estimate denotation in three minutes and forty-two seconds. We will be caught within the range of the explosion if we do not leave in less than a minute, Captain."

Jim's fist lands with a solid thump on a bare spot of metal between two control panels. "Are you mad?" he demands of the Betazoid.

"_Captain, we cannae—you need to—_" Scott's voice filters in and out through a second speaker. "_Damn you, lad, get those transporters back online! Capt'n, I repeat, you need to pull out now!_"

Jim's other hand rises to grasp the edge of the console, knuckles turning bloodless. "Auron, you'll kill all of us—yourself—your wife!"

"Does that mean you are afraid to die, Captain?"

"Two minutes and fifty-nine seconds until denotation," Spock intones to Jim's left. "Only ten seconds remaining to turn back in the _Galileo_, Captain. Nine. Eight. Seven..."

"Scotty, transport Mr. Spock to the ship."

Spock's head jerks in Jim's direction, the countdown faltering. "Mr. Scott, delay that order. Captain—_Jim_, I will attempt to reason with Mr. Auron once you board the _Enterprise_."

"Who's the captain here?" But Jim's amusement is fleeting. "No arguing with me, mister. I'm not leaving anyone behind."

"And the Vulcan won't leave without you. Wonderful, we'll all go together!" chirps the Betazoid through the open channel.

Two minutes—that's all they have. He could hold out until the end but this doesn't feel like a bluff. Not when the only person Auron cares about on that stolen shuttle is likely his wife. According to McCoy's prognosis, he has good reason to believe she won't stay alive much longer.

And Jim's pride is not worth a life. "What do you want from me?"

"Turn your ship around, Captain, and go back the way you came."

Jim allows for a pause. "Let my men go, and I will."

"Hm. Perhaps we can reach an agreement after all. I could release them at the port, _if_ you choose not to interfere with my escape."

"You left two cold bodies at the last station, Auron. How can I trust you not to harm them?"

"There can be no trust between us, James Tiberius Kirk. Of course, in another minute that will be a moot point. Make your choice."

Jim's already made it. He takes a moment to just breathe. Patching through to the _Enterprise_ on the same line with Auron, he gives his order. "Kirk to _Enterprise_. Mr. Scott, prepare for rendezvous with the _Galileo_."

"_Aye, Capt'n._"

He can't blame Scotty for sounding so uncertain. "Kirk out."

The Betazoid doesn't gloat quite as much as Jim expects him to. "Well chosen, Captain. My pilot is correcting our... engineering failure as we speak. I hope you won't feel too unkindly towards me for forcing your hand. You see, it is a simple matter for my wife and I. Either we live together or die together."

The communication line cuts out, and on the shuttle screen the other vessel fires its thrusters in preparation to depart.

Jim quickly hails his ship. "Scotty."

"_Sir?_" Jim hears a sudden, sharp inhalation. "_Och, I'm not gonna like this, am I?_"

"We might not be able to go after him at this moment but, given time, someone will. " Jim feels the moment his Vulcan friend catches on to his half-hatched plan. "Beam me on that shuttle before it gets out of range, Mr. Scott. That's an order."

Spock, with something akin to alarm in his dark eyes, reaches for Jim's arm as if to physically bind him to his seat, saying, "Captain—!"

Jim doesn't hear the rest of what Spock has to say, for the familiar effect of the transporter takes over, causing a buzzing in his ears that spreads to his limbs. Then, seconds later, he is standing near the cargo hatch of a different shuttle.

By a wall, a woman with pale features in a dark dress is lying upon a small cot. As though she senses his arrival, her eyes open, their irises a startling green—the first Jim has seen of her supposedly half-human heritage.

"You must stop him," she whispers, "if you can."

She says no more, closing her eyes again as a shadow fills the open archway between this cabin and the next. The figure in red, weapon posed, is Lieutenant Yarrows. His eyes glitter almost preternaturally at Jim through the low lighting.

"You have made a mistake."

Jim knows it isn't Yarrows speaking even as words flow from the young man's mouth. "As of now, one of your hostages is a 'Fleet captain, Auron. I would say _you_ are the one who should be afraid."

There is an echo of laughter. It takes Jim a moment to realize it is a sensation in his head and not a sound in the room. Jim's hands ball into fists, and he concentrates hard, letting his breath even just as Spock had taught him once upon a time. A handful of seconds pass, or ten minutes. Jim would never be certain. At last the laughter slides away, leaving behind a faint side effect not unlike the jarring clash of metal against metal which inspires a moment of vertigo.

Jim opens his eyes (only then aware he had closed them) and feels imbued with a deep satisfaction. He lets that linger in his voice. "I won't be so easy to take."

Before they had boarded the _Galileo_, Spock had insisted on a precautionary measure which had seen to that. He'll have to remember to thank the Vulcan for the strong mental shielding because it seems to be holding up well against an experienced telepath.

A voice from behind Kirk startles him. "Sadly, Captain, while you may have thwarted me in one way, you are still vulnerable in another."

Jim barely has time to spin around and catch a glimpse of the displeased visage of the Betazoid before the blow aimed at the side of his head knocks him out.

* * *

**Apparently when the muse wanted "adventurous", that meant a bad kind of adventure?**

**Also, TBC?**


	2. Part Two

When Spock boards the _Enterprise_, very few crewmen attempt to look the Vulcan directly in the eyes. Montgomery Scott is one of those few, mainly because he hasn't a choice. His rank, as well as his concern for his absent shipmates, means he cannot hide behind a bulwark like everybody else from the frighteningly cold spectacle that is Mr. Spock.

The First Officer, it seems, expects him to match his ground-eating pace along the corridor as they head to the Bridge. He hasn't yet berated Montgomery for transporting Kirk onto the Betazoid's runaway vessel (for which Montgomery can only feel immense gratitude) but the man suspects Spock is merely biding his time until Kirk is once again safely aboard the _Enterprise_. Then it's going to be a blistering lecture for both humans on the sheer idiocy of risking the life of the most important commanding officer on the ship.

Montgomery plans, somehow, to redeem himself before then. He won't make excuses for following his superior's orders when he knew Kirk was skirting the line of emotional compromise over the deaths of two crewmen and the unknown fate of the remaining escort party, but he has also come to understand that some risks only work for their captain because he _is_ Jim Kirk.

How unfortunate, he sighs to himself, it is not likely Mr. Spock will see things that way.

"Mr. Scott," the Vulcan says in a sharp tone that indicates he has repeated the name more than once.

Montgomery straightens and gives the First Officer his full attention. "Aye, Mr. Spock?" That blankness in the Vulcan's face is rather worrying, and definitely more than the usual stoicism.

"We have arrived."

The engineer looks ahead of them and sees that they have in fact reached their destination, and in record time too. "Oh, aye!"

Montgomery's companion says nothing else, simply makes a very precise pivot on the ball of his foot and strides into the waiting turbolift. Montgomery hurries after him, feeling sweat gather along his forehead.

"We're in a pretty pickle," he says as the door slides shut and the turbolift gears engage. "What do you think the Captain's plan is?"

"It would be futile to guess the Captain's intentions or motive at this time."

Montgomery interprets that as the Vulcan way of saying _I can't talk about it or I'll break stuff_ and makes no comment. Let it never be said he is stupid enough to poke at an upset Vulcan. Some things are best left to Dr. McCoy, who seems to have multiple lives like one of those cats in wives' tales since the doctor has yet to be properly smote for his insolence.

Of course, Montgomery has seen the way the First Officer and the CMO fight. To say Spock doesn't give as good as he gets would be an utter lie. One time, at the beginning of their deep-space mission, Montgomery had thought he ought to intervene to calm rising tempers (or at least Dr. McCoy's) but Kirk had simply shaken his head and said, "If you interrupt them now, it will be twice as bad later on."

It's a strange relationship, that. All this time later he would think the two would have figured out how to cope with each other. Certainly their clashes aren't as vicious as they used to be. Maybe McCoy and Spock still argue for the sake of arguing? Because they like it?

Well now, muses the brown-haired man. That's a startling thought... That would almost make the two of them friends!

There hasn't been doubt in his mind for a long time but his realization cinches it: this Spock isn't the same Mr. Spock he knew under Pike's command. It has a lot to do with their current captain not accepting 'no' for an answer and the fact the Vulcan has come to understand that, given the chance, people _want_ to know him as a person and not simply as a non-human.

And probably if Spock is to continue his growing education on friendly overtures, the two people Spock seems closest to had better be saved, however ironic that seems in Dr. McCoy's case.

Montgomery makes a beeline for the Engineering station once he enters the Bridge. Spock goes to the empty captain's chair but takes up a position on its left rather than sitting down. All eyes land upon their acting captain.

"Helm," Spock says.

Sulu's fingers slow in their dancing across a console. "Current heading one-fifty, mark twenty-seven. I made the pass at a quarter-orbit of the spaceport as instructed, sir. Right now, he'll see the tail of us as if we're en route to the next star cluster."

"Thank you, Mr. Sulu. Stay the course."

"Mr. Spock?" Chekov questions, turning sideways in his chair to look at Spock with hesitation in his eyes.

The Vulcan nods ever-so-slightly for the officer to continue.

"Sir... we _are_ going after them." The statement is partly stubborn declaration and partly a request for reassurance.

Spock transfers his gaze to the view-screen. "It is a fact, Mr. Chekov, that this vessel and its occupants have jurisdiction to pursue a Federation criminal. However, the risks involved therein must always be given full consideration—which I have done." Now it appears to be Spock's turn to hesitate, though Montgomery cannot fathom why. "I suspect were the Captain here he would argue when Auron was placed in our brig, he became our responsibility until subsequent release to another authority. Auron has not, through his own devices, met with that other authority. It would seem logical to proceed in the apprehending of him."

Murmurs of approval float around the Bridge. Near Scott, a man close to him in age wearing Security Red steps forward, offering, "My men are prepared for orders, sir."

Spock stays silent for a moment, which has the effect of causing everyone else to lean in slightly in anticipation of his answer. "As always, the willingness of you and your officers to perform, Mr. Giotto, is greatly appreciated."

_Uh-oh_, the Scotsman thinks to himself, waiting for the 'but' he hears coming.

"But I fear your training and determination will be of no advantage in this situation, leaving you open to more risk than should be afforded. The target has proven stronger and less scrupulous than us. He will not hesitate to employ his particular... talent, against which any psychically disinclined being would have no defense. Such is apparent from his prior actions."

"Sir," and surprisingly the Chief of Security does not look like he wants to back down, "we know _you_ have the ability to defend against his telepathic attacks. Couldn't you share that ability? Like you did with Captain Kirk?"

Oh, Montgomery hasn't heard this! That's what he gets for being left on the Bridge instead of trailing after Kirk and Spock to a shuttle bay. It eases some of his worry to think that Kirk is not entirely at the mercy of the Betazoid right now.

Spock faces Giotto but it is apparent he addresses them all as he speaks: "It is true I was able to instill in Captain Kirk a mental shield against outward influence before we departed the _Enterprise_. But you must understand, Lieutenant-Commander, the procedure itself is delicate—dangerous in that it could be crippling were it to be sundered prematurely and without proper preparation. Also, while I am capable of the act for a short period of time, the shielding of multiple individuals is less effective as a whole, and that is why it is not an oft-employed tactic. The one who supports the shielding must give both a surplus of energy and concentration to the task. I suspect Auron anticipates we may try this and is prepared. The likelihood of his success is too high; the collective risk, too great. If I am compromised, then all those with me will be compromised. Therefore, logically, we cannot approach him in force." Spock moves away from the chair, the gesture almost restless for a Vulcan. "I must approach him alone."

The hopeful atmosphere almost visibly deflates. The Vulcan could go alone but what if, in the end, they lose Dr. McCoy, the Captain, _and_ the First Officer? It doesn't bear thinking about. The _Enterprise_ would never recover.

Montgomery, shaking his head, steps down to the lower level of the Bridge. "I'm not inclined to disagree with you, Mr. Spock. Seems you've thought this through. But maybe, with just one man other than yourself... it has to be better than facing a threat alone." He decides it wouldn't hurt to ask. "I could go with you."

Spock's reply is not unkind. "I thank you for that offer, but I would remind you your presence is essential aboard the _Enterprise_, Mr. Scott, as next in line to take command of this ship. In the event the outcome becomes... unfavorable, a senior officer must always remain onboard."

He softens his sigh. "I thought as much, but it was worth the try."

Their attention is captured by Sulu, who begins to lift himself from his seat. "Scotty has a point: two heads are better than one, sir. Request permission to join the rescue mission."

Spock studies Sulu for a long moment. Montgomery holds his breath, like everyone else, until the commander yields, saying, "Granted. I will be in Shuttle Bay Hangar Two in approximately twenty-three minutes. We will convene there, Mr. Sulu." Only then something in him relaxes.

Spock asks Uhura to contact the replacement for Helm, and Sulu heads silently for the turbolift in the company of Giotto to do what needs doing before he and Mr. Spock are to leave. When Spock is finally ready to move in that direction as well, Montgomery goes after him.

"Good luck," he offers.

Spock folds his hands behind his back. "I do not believe in luck."

"I know ye don't, Mr. Spock," agrees the Scotsman, "but it's part of human tradition when seeing a comrade off to battle. Besides, the Captain's not here to say it himself. Can't fall down on my duties, now can I?"

"Indeed," the Vulcan intones with a placid blink. The turbolift has returned for Spock, its door sliding open. "You have the conn, Mr. Scott."

Montgomery reaches out but stops short of making physical contact. The movement is enough to recapture Spock's attention.

"I suppose I oughtna point out the Captain won't thank you for going after him."

A flicker passes through Spock's dark eyes, there and gone. "I believe you just did." Spock steps into the lift and faces forward. Holding the engineer's gaze, he adds, "And to the contrary... I believe the Captain will thank me."

Montgomery finds himself shaking his head long after the turbolift has departed.

[~~~]

Leonard first awakens feeling detached from his body and vaguely confused; but he is reminded soon enough why he should hate awareness when, at the slightest movement, the cabin floor tilts and gives a dizzying little spin. He swallows back the bile in his throat and needs a moment for his vision to clear. A man can't recover from being stunned right away, the doctor in him thinks, unless he's superhuman. And superhuman Leonard is not.

Maybe it would have been better if his eyes hadn't cooperated, he will determine later. The sight which greets him triggers an instant panic.

"...My tricorder!" he gasps out the demand. "Give me my damn tricorder!"

Cursing his vertigo, his hampered limbs and a gamut of other things, Leonard pitches his voice with urgency and kicks out a foot to meet the nearest boot of the focal point of his attention. Jim Kirk stays silent, head limply fallen forward. The man gives no immediate sign of rousing.

Dismay overlaps with fear when Leonard tries to find a way to take stock of his captain's injuries but fails. No amount of twisting frees his hands. He's helpless; he cannot do anything remotely useful to Jim.

Other than, of course, badgering their captor.

"Where's the medkit?" he barks at the only person in close proximity who isn't bound or unconscious.

The shuttle's pilot, lounging against the cabin wall, blinks too slowly at him, no recognition of Leonard's demand crossing his face. A chill passes down Leonard's spine. The fellow might as well be a battery-operated doll left on standby while its owner is away.

He tugs rather fruitlessly for the umpteenth time at the wide metal clamp around his wrists, ignoring the pain from his already bruised flesh.

How the hell did Jim get here? How long was he out? How long has _Jim_ been out?

Any way he thinks about the situation seems like bad news. Jim's presence here means the _Enterprise_ can't be far behind... but Leonard can only assume Jim willingly left his ship in order to tangle with the crazy Betazoid.

And the idiot would, Leonard knows. Kirk has serious issues when it comes to putting his own safety above another's, which often proves to be quite the nuisance to those individuals working diligently to _preserve_ the man's well-being. On more than one occasion, Leonard has wished Jim would take a page from their resident Vulcan's Handbook O' Logic and figure out that starship captains, especially good ones, aren't a dime a dozen, therefore necessitating strict adherence to that first-priority clause everybody but Kirk seems to know: the one that states in no uncertain terms _the captain comes first_.

Unfortunately Kirk is about as likely to accept that policy as a pig is to fly. And it doesn't help that each time Jim is in trouble, the First Officer runs headlong after him, regardless of the danger. It's Leonard's terrible luck, he sometimes muses, to be the man who has to follow the two blockheads like he's got as little sense as they do.

That gives him pause. Is Spock on this shuttle somewhere too?

He looks at the unconscious Kirk and thinks not. Hopes not. It would be very depressing if all three of them were captured. Not that they haven't gotten out of situations like that in the past...

Leonard mutters under his breath and wishes he could scrub a hand over his face. _Stop thinking about the past and focus on the present_, he chides himself. The present is a definite problem. He levels a glare in the direction of the blank-eyed pilot.

"All right, Auron, enough of this little game you've got goin'." He figures the Betazoid is using the pilot as a listening ear because that seems like the kind of creepy thing Auron would do. "I don't know how Kirk got here but at the moment, I've got bigger worries than that. You see that little bit of blood on his ear? Could be any number of things have hemorrhaged inside his body to cause that—and we both know if something happens to him, _you're_ a dead man walking."

Leonard pauses in hopes of a response but the pilot continues to blink dumbly at him. He evens his tone to mask his frustration. "C'mon, be smart here. At least let me have my medkit. ...Please."

The pilot moves, then, taking one stiff step away from the cabin wall. "For every concession I make, Doctor, you must make one in return."

A deal? Of course. That's par for the course at this point. "Depends on what you want."

"My wife—you will bring my wife to a conscious state so that I might speak with her."

"After I look at Kirk," Leonard stipulates.

"No human comes first."

Leonard lifts his chin slightly. "And, to me, no one comes before my captain, Auron. If you want my help to do anything, you let me make certain he's not in danger of dying."

Silence fills the cabin. Leonard doesn't know if Auron is going to call his bluff. The Betazoid does have the upper hand. All he has to do is threaten to end Jim's life and Leonard would cave without a moment's hesitation.

But it seems the Betazoid doesn't know that. The pilot nods abruptly and disappears into the cockpit. When he returns, he is holding Leonard's missing medical kit but not, the doctor notes, the first-aid kit with which all Starfleet shuttles are stocked. Leonard reaches for it automatically, only to be reminded he can't move his arms.

"You'll have to let me go, too."

"Do not think me stupid, Dr. McCoy."

"I don't," he says mildly. _Except for the fact you put yourself in this situation in the first place_. Better not to say that. "But I do think your common sense ought to tell you I can't operate a tricorder without my hands and you aren't trained to read one, otherwise my presence here wouldn't have been needed in the first place."

The pilot stares at him.

Leonard huffs out of a breath. "Besides, aren't you going to have take these off so I can see about your wife?"

From the pilot's sigh, Leonard interprets that the man controlling him feels exasperated. He allows himself a hint of a smile at the tiny victory, but wisely does not push his luck when the pilot bends down to release the cuffs on his wrists. Leonard shakes the blood back into his hands and accepts the medkit. He fishes inside it for the medical tricorder, makes certain the device doesn't appear damaged, and runs it over Jim, starting between head and shoulder for a general reading. Satisfied by what he sees initially, Leonard moves the tricorder up along the line of the neck. The small instrument chirps anxiously when it reaches the far side of Jim's head. Leonard narrows his eyes as he studies the output.

"All right," he begins, too immersed in a burgeoning anger to hear how deadly his voice sounds, "who's the fool that hit 'im?"

"Does it matter?" the pilot questions, sounding curious.

"You could have cracked his skull! You could have done irreparable damage to his brain!"

"Ah, but it is apparent, is it not, that Captain Kirk is _not_ irreparably damaged?" Auron's amusement flickers through his host's eyes. "I believe the term 'hard-headed' applies here."

Incensed to the very core of his being, the doctor leaps to his feet and stabs his finger in the air, flinging his words with the heat of accusation. "You think this is funny? All it takes is one careless blow to destroy a man's life! I've met a lot of selfish bastards over the years but you take the cake, Auron. The least you could do is keep your damn misery to yourself. We're not the reason your wife's dying!"

The pilot moves so fast, Leonard doesn't see him leap the distance between them or have time to brace for the incoming blow. It knocks him sideways into the nearest seat and its occupant. Almost immediately Leonard levers himself off of Kirk, despite being not quite steady on his feet, nowhere near cowed by the violence as he might have been as a younger man. His lip hurts (has to be bleeding a little because he tastes iron on his tongue), and he feels his jaw already starting to swell.

Leonard wipes the corner of his mouth. "What, couldn't punch me yourself? You're a coward."

"I don't need you."

"Then put me out the airlock."

The pilot turns away, growling something about dumb humans.

"That's what I thought," Leonard says, not knowing where this belligerence is coming from and not really caring. He picks up the medkit from the floor and spares a surreptitious glance at Jim. "If you're done with the bullying, I'll see to your wife now."

The pilot returns to the wall like a robot returning to its charging station and fixes an empty stare on nothing. Leonard has to look away because the pilot's expression is too similar to the visage of the dead. He starts slowly toward the back of the shuttle, fighting the urge to spin around and grab a hold of Jim.

That would be a mistake, a very bad one. Auron can't know that Jim is beginning to wake up.

He worries at the cut on his lip, thinking, _For god's sake, if ever there was a need to be subtle, Jim, now's the time._ A moment later, Leonard stops cold in his tracks, forgetting that the telepath can probably hear him. His fingers clench around his tricorder at his idiocy.

"Doctor," a voice calls him from behind the partition.

Leonard focuses only on his breathing and moves forward. What meets him is not what he expects: the cot is empty, the Betazoid and his wife nowhere to be seen. Lieutenant Yarrows is watching him from opposite the cot, a glint in his eye that isn't human.

"What—" The doctor has trouble swallowing his surprise. "We're docked?" That hadn't occurred to him before. It should have because pilot obviously hadn't been occupied, but it hadn't.

"Come with us, Dr. McCoy," Auron speaks through Yarrows.

Leonard obeys, albeit somewhat slowly as he follows the man from the shuttle. He doesn't dare, not for a second, think of the friend he's leaving behind. Their best chance lay in Kirk staying far away from Auron's attentions.

[~~~]

As Hikaru Sulu transverses the floor of the well-lit yet quiet shuttle bay, Spock's eyebrow slowly inches upward. Self-consciously, Sulu adjusts his leather jacket and the sword belt at his waist before giving a small smile and a shrug.

"I dressed based on the assumption we couldn't walk into a port with Starfleet written all over us," he murmurs by way of explanation for his appearance. Spock's clothes are a non-descript tunic and pants so maybe he hasn't guessed wrong. That's a relief.

"Astute of you, Mr. Sulu," the Vulcan remarks with an incline of his head. "It is my error I did not express our need for stealth on this mission in advance, but I can see now that would not have been necessary."

Some of Sulu's stiff posture warms under the compliment, and he gestures at the small craft awaiting them. "Shall we, sir?"

"You can fly this vessel," states Spock as they enter its main cabin.

"Yes, sir," Sulu agrees even though it isn't a question. "I'm the one who confiscated her, so I can fly her. The navigation system isn't that different from the controls in a civilian carrier except for, you know, being in a non-Standard language."

"It was intended this vessel be relinquished at the last starbase."

"Fortunate for us, then," the younger man says, tone pleasant, "Captain Kirk likes her too much to give her up."

The Vulcan pauses mid-input at the co-pilot panel and blinks. "I was told the starbase commander had no space available to store it for pickup."

Sulu opens his mouth, then closes it quickly as he realizes belatedly he might have let something slip he shouldn't have. The Vulcan continues to stare at him until confessing becomes his only choice.

"That could be true," he hedges.

"And what is it you believe to be the truth, Lieutenant?"

Damn. "...That maybe the Captain won it back through a lucky hand of poker?"

"I do not understand. Upon seizure, the vessel was the property of Starfleet. How did it become a stake in a betting game?"

Sulu coughs to hide his laugh. "Because there were humans involved?"

"I see." Spock looks away, his next exhalation a little longer than the last.

Which means, no doubt, _this should not have surprised me_. Sulu hopes if Spock intends to question their captain further about said spacecraft, his name is mentioned at time during the conversation. He busies himself firing up the engines so he doesn't think about it how Kirk is going to get him back.

A companionable silence stretches between the officers while they coordinate with the bay operators to prepare for departure. Sulu waits until a lull in communication to bring up the one subject that must be discussed before docking at their destination.

"About this.. shield, Mr. Spock..."

Spock removes his hands from his console and turns to study Sulu much like he had done on the Bridge.

Sulu squares his shoulders. "About the shield—I'm ready when you are."

"I will not shield your mind, Mr. Sulu."

Sulu's stutter is born of confusion. "B-But..."

"My original plan did not take into account an extra person," the Vulcan explains. "Yet upon reflection inspired by both your and Mr. Scott's remarks, I realized there is a way you can assist in my endeavors if you are so willing."

"Yes to that!"

But Spock carries on as though the other details had to be made known before he could accept Sulu's participation: "As I said, I will not shield your mind as I did Captain Kirk's. While the shielding may act as a barrier to undue influence but it does not prevent the detection by a skilled telepath. In fact, I would hypothesize that a shielded mind stands out more so than an unshielded mind. The psionic energy of the shield repels instead of attracts."

Sulu imagines something slick and slippery, hard to get a hold of. That would be frustrating, surely, if a person is used to something friendlier.

"Then what will I be doing?"

"You will be an unknown variable, Lieutenant. If I shield your mind, Auron will know and he will attempt to break through it; but if he does not sense you, he will have no reason to target you."

"I'm... not sure I'm following, sir. I'm human. He's a full-blooded Betazoid. Don't they claim we're like little lights floating around in the darkness—hard to miss?"

"Betazoid poets can be given to unnecessary embellishment when it suits them" is Spock's rather dry comment on the matter. "Nevertheless, the species is as any other: they can be deceived. In this regard, I intend to blanket your mind rather than merely enact a shield."

Sulu's eyes widen of their own accord. He's not certain of the difference between a 'shield' and a 'blanket' but one definitely sounds more ominous than the other. "What does that mean?"

"Simply that you will be invisible to a telepath."

Sulu stares at the Vulcan for a long minute, thinking hard. "...Invisible. That would be a definite advantage for us."

"Affirmative." But suddenly Spock's stare turns flat, his voice matter-of-fact. "The risk involved is significant."

"I wouldn't be piloting ships through a vacuum if I couldn't handle risk, Mr. Spock." _Which could be said of any space-faring people,_ he muses privately. "So what is it? Could I go insane?"

"If your psionic energy is stymied for a prolonged period of time I would surmise insanity could, and most likely would, occur. But I only conjecture. There are no studies of this technique with which to compare results, Mr. Sulu. The practice is not allowed on Vulcan, and therefore my only working knowledge is based upon theory. That is the risk."

Sulu turns to look out the view screen of their small craft. At present he can only see the inside of the shuttle bay but beyond that will be a spaceport. And on that spaceport are people he considers family. He buckles himself into his seat without another thought. "Risk accepted."

As if those two simple words had already set them on the path, the comm channel comes alive with the voice of an on-duty bay tech. "_Enterprise_ to _Amity_. Proceed with departure."

Spock confirms their status, and Sulu's fingers fly through the proper protocol to get them off the ground. In a matter of seconds, they are speeding away from the _Enterprise_ toward the winking dot on the horizon that is the spaceport.

"He won't see us coming!" Sulu calls out to his co-pilot, buoyed by confidence and a sense of adventure.

"Let us hope not, Mr. Sulu."


	3. Part Three

Jim comes out of it to find himself slumped sideways in a passenger seat inside the stolen shuttlecraft. He is not restrained, and he's alone.

Well, not quite alone, he realizes, catching a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. Oddly, that figure does not seem to care as Jim's torso straightens out, followed by Jim's legs. Jim narrows his eyes and, after a quick deliberation, levers himself to his feet.

In the next moment the man is immensely grateful to have both hands planted on the armrests. The floor, having tilted precariously in one direction, refuses to remain still under his feet. He steels himself against a drunken stagger and finally masters his afflicted equilibrium (as well as the nauseous turn of his stomach) with the practice of someone who is long used to operating under a serious medical condition like head trauma.

The Betazoid had tried to ensnare his mind, he remembers. The attempt failed, and he felt pain shortly thereafter. He can only conclude he must have been knocked out. The aching at the back of his head seems to support such a conclusion.

But for how long? And why was he left here?

Needing answers, Jim turns his coldest look upon the dark shape standing among deeper shadows. "Where's Auron?" he demands.

The person doesn't respond, not even with a facial tick of acknowledgement. Frowning, Jim steps toward him and experiences a surreal moment, wondering if he is looking at a life-like statue of a man.

No, he decides. The person is breathing, if shallowly. It's the vacancy in the eyes which tells the story.

Pained by what he sees, Jim knows this is just another version of death, perhaps something worse than that. Auron has no conscience, no morality, to do such a thing to another living being.

His gut tells him a hard choice will have to be made in order to stop the Betazoid, a choice he always dreads but, as a captain, understands is his responsibility to make. And he'll have to live with it afterwards, just as he lives with the weight of all the other hard choices already made.

A quick search of the dimly lit cabin yields no weapon and an inoperative cockpit. He believes he could bring the system online again, at the very least enough so to relay a subspace message to the _Enterprise, _but he can't do everything he wants. He is only human and short on time, and so priority must be what dictates his next action.

It could be said not everyone agrees with the way Kirk prioritizes. Certainly his First Officer would not call it logical, and his doctor would argue he hasn't the sense God gave a goat. Despite how much Jim likes and respects both men, concerning his priorities he keeps his own counsel. So long as it aligns with his personal code of honor, that is all which matters to him in the end.

Mind made up, Jim forces the planetfall ramp to lower with a manual override and steps down from the shuttle into the darkness of what appears to be an empty holding bay.

For him, nothing ranks higher in that moment than the rescuing of his men.

[~~~]

Leonard's first impression of the tiny area is that it could easily serve as a prison cell. A single light fixture hangs from the ceiling, its occasional flicker across the walls and floor adding to the growing gloom of the room. The air has the distinct aftertaste of being recycled for too long. There are no windows and no route for escape other than the one entrance.

_A glorified box_, he thinks, crossing the threshold.

His lungs, offended by the lack of space, make it difficult to breathe, his palms start to sweat, and his mind takes a sudden slide sideways, like a pinwheel caught in a harsh gust of wind. Leonard ignores what amounts to his body's building panic by focusing on the whereabouts of his patient.

Out of a shadowed corner of the room, the outline of a man takes shape. "You seem distressed."

"Guess all the fancy suites were booked," croaks the doctor, his voice hinting at nerves, and he himself not pleased at being so vulnerable to the Betazoid's scrutiny. "I hope you didn't get jipped on the overnight fee."

Another flicker of the light fixture illuminates the side of Auron's face and, for the briefest of moments, he looks like a man stretched beyond endurance. That surprises Leonard enough to forget about his claustrophobia for a second.

Auron sounds no less imperturbed than he always has. "I will admit I do not understand why you humans care to joke in the most un-fortuitous of circumstances."

"Because they are unfortunate," Leonard explains. "Laughing is better than crying, don't you think?"

"I suppose." The Betazoid beckons him forward. "Do not be afraid, Dr. McCoy. You are here for my wife, and I give my word I will not harm you while she is in your care."

_Yeah, until you think there's nothing more I can do to benefit you or her._ His lungs tighten again, for a different reason.

"Do you distrust me so?"

Leonard pushes past Auron to the unconscious woman visible on the small bed. "You've given me plenty of reasons to." He doesn't like the pallor of her face. "When was the last time she was awake?"

"During our dis-embarkment from the shuttlecraft. As I lifted her into my arms, I heard my name... but no more."

"She didn't open her eyes? Move her limbs?"

"No. It was only a faint resonance, mind to mind." All at once, Auron's voice turns frosty. "You pity me. I can feel it."

"It's not pity," Leonard argues as he calibrates his tricorder and starts a mental count to regain control of his breathing. "It's compassion. Something I doubt you could understand." The cell-like room which had started to fuzz to grey snaps back into focus.

"Whether you feel pity or compassion, I desire neither from you. Focus on your task. Bring her back to me."

"I'm a medical officer, Auron. I'll do my best but don't expect miracles. That's left up to a higher power."

"Higher power? How can I believe in such things when my wife lay dying—she who has done nothing to deserve what has been done to her!"

"Believe me, you're not the first person to feel that way." He adds in a rush, as if he might be stopped before he can speak, "But I hope you know, hating the universe and everything in it isn't going to help her. Hatred makes nothing better."

Auron glances away, then. "Hatred is the only thing I have left."

Leonard recognizes what remains unsaid in the pause, in the space between them. Auron will continue to take what he deems necessary to survive, to the point of killing. Reasoning won't work and a plea won't buy more time.

The doctor bows his head, the cold hand in his seeming heavier. He takes a moment to pray for the woman and, by extension, for himself and his friends. If his captor can discern the sadness of his thoughts, nothing is said of it. For that, at least, Leonard is grateful.

[~~~]

A voice breaks the silence of the cabin: "Sir, I'm being told there's no room in the bays for us."

"Then we will engage the docking ring."

Sulu glances at the Vulcan in the co-pilot seat. "I put in a request for that but it came back denied."

One of Spock's eyebrows arches toward his hairline. "Most unusual. Although this sector is not known to be a busy thoroughfare of the galaxy, the space station should be equipped to handle approximately two hundred vessels at any given time, a volume of which I highly doubt it has encountered since its construction."

Sulu waits, knowing the Vulcan's brain is fast calculating the odds and nuisances therein.

"Perhaps, Lieutenant," Spock says in somewhat softer tone of voice, "we are not as invisible in our sheep's clothing as we hoped we would be."

"But Auron couldn't have infiltrated their Control already... could he?"

There is a moment of silence from Spock. Then, "'It takes but one spy in the house of the enemy to turn a tide of war.'" At Sulu's half-curious, half-surprised look, Spock admits, "A proverb I heard, or a remark closely resembling one, from our captain."

"Ah," murmurs Sulu, "Kirk does think like an army general sometimes."

"Indeed."

Sulu sits back in his seat. "So what do we do?"

Spock flips up the plastic cover over a red button but he looks at the button instead of pressing it. He says, almost as if to himself, "...I would argue that our situation is dire enough to warrant a priority-one emergency."

"You won't get any complaints from me," offers Sulu.

Spock blinks once, long and slow, before activating their beacon of distress. If the Vulcan has any misgivings after doing so, it does not show in his face.

Assuming a slight inclination of Spock's head in his direction to be tacit permission to proceed, Sulu contacts the station with a sweet and simple SOS, and in a matter of minutes the auto-pilot is backing them into a space between two larger carriers. He feels the moment the rings between the vessel and station wall connect and seal, imagining he can hear the depression of air. It takes some guesswork but he is able to the guide the vessel's system through the proper protocol to ready and unlock the hatch.

Spock rises from his seat in silence, bringing Sulu's mechanical checking of the sensors to a halt as he watches the Vulcan retrieve one of their communicators.

Sulu wants to know, and so he asks, "What are we taking for weapons?"

"Only that which is not registered under Starfleet armory codes."

Patting the sword hilt at his side, the human nods. "I definitely have that covered for myself—but what about you, sir? I don't think it would be wise if you walked into the port unarmed. In an outpost like this, no one else will be. It's like asking for trouble." He removes a small, plain dagger and its sheath he had attached to the side of his boot and offers it. "Here, carry this at least."

Wordlessly Spock takes it from him and ties the weapon to the front of his belt.

Sulu returns his attention to the helm, fingers flying over buttons and keys before he finally relays the command to secure the vessel until their return. "Craft is powered down. We're ready as we'll ever be, Mr. Spock."

"Let us depart then," Spock replies, and they do.

[~~~]

Beside the bed of his wife, Auron lifts his head like a dog catching a scent. "We have company."

Leonard resists the urge to bite into his bottom lip and keeps his response mild. "That so?"

"Oh, yes. Your Vulcan."

Hands stuttering over his tricorder, the doctor bows his head. _That fool—that pointy-eared fool!_ "He's probably looking for Kirk."

"Of course." Auron's agreement is eerily good-natured. "I suspect they will be reunited in short order."

Leonard sets the tricorder aside and stands up from his seat at the edge of the bed. "So that was part of your plan, leaving him behind in the shuttle. I figured so. You've made a grave mistake, though, in doing that."

Auron meets and holds Leonard's stare. "Have I? Do enlighten me, Doctor."

"You won't stand a chance once Kirk and Spock find each other. No one who tries to work against them ever does."

"You sound confident of that."

Despite being mocked, Leonard finds that he can speak levelly. "My confidence is in _them_. I've served enough years alongside those two men to know what you're about to go up against. But you won't believe me—not until the end."

"Would you suggest I surrender?"

Leonard just looks at him before slowly returning his gaze to his patient. "I think it's too late for that," he says softly. "I wish you'd made a different choice in the beginning, Auron. I really do. The best that can be done now is to make the right choice for her."

Something cold and unfriendly presses against his mind. Leonard sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation, for it reminds him too much of another time and place when his mind had caved to invasion. But the force dissipates as quickly as it came.

A warning, then.

The doctor sinks to the edge of the bed, afraid his legs might refuse to hold him.

"I have made the right choices," Auron states, voice implacable.

"Yeah," Leonard murmurs, feeling a heavy sadness encompass him, "I figured that too."

It isn't until the sadness begins to ebb away, leaving McCoy slightly confused about why he felt it in the first place, that he realizes it doesn't truly belong to him. This time, as he takes a hold of his patient's hand, there is a spark, almost like an electrical current, which passes between them. Leonard opens his mouth to call her name.

_Do not._

The voice in his head is as distinct as if the woman had spoken, but it is weak. Leonard curls in his shoulders, turning his head from Auron, worried his expression might betray both Nola and him.

_Do not be afraid,_ Nola says. _I... can be of help to you._

He squeezes her hand, a sign of encouragement, to say _yes, I understand you._ When no reply is immediately forthcoming, Leonard presses her fingers again with some urgency.

_This body... is dying. I cannot stay... but nor can I… go until—_

Her voice dies out abruptly. Leonard leans over her, concerned, to rest his palm against her forehead. He releases her fingers and reaches for the tricorder with his other hand.

"What is it?" Auron's voice at his shoulder startles Leonard badly enough he fumbles, and the tricorder slips from the bed to the floor. "What?"

"Do you detect something?" the Betazoid demands, his dark eyes restlessly shifting back and forth between his wife and the doctor. "Is she... returned?"

Leonard begins, "Auron..." not certain he can say the truth but also not certain that he should withhold it from a man who sounds that desperate for good news.

_—until he is ready to let me._

The voice comes back in the faintest of whispers, but Leonard feels the words burrow into his mind to stay. He recognizes the resignation behind them, and the quiet suffering, and knows in that moment what he has to do to help the woman—and to use her to help those who are in danger of Auron's wrath.

He sits up, an idea forming into a plan, and gives the Betazoid his full attention. "Nola won't speak to you."

First confusion then denial flickers across Auron's face. "That is a lie."

"She'll talk to me, or through me if that's what you want... but only on one condition."

Auron grabs his shoulders painfully hard and forces McCoy to his feet. "What is it, this condition?"

Leonard is careful not to think about how easy this is. "You have to convince my captain you're dead."

Auron slowly pulls back. "Dead?"

"Dead," Leonard confirms. "That way he has no reason to pursue you."

Auron's eyes narrow. "What ploy is this, Doctor?"

"There is little ploy here against _you_, Auron. You play dead, and then we will convince everyone I'm safely en route to the _Enterprise_. Once we know for a fact Kirk and his men are out of harm's way, Nola will communicate with you. No more tormenting, and no more killing. That isn't what she wants, so that's the condition you have to fulfill."

The Betazoid's nostrils flare. "If you are lying to me, human, I will turn you into a feeble, drooling shell of a being."

Leonard purses his mouth. "You great big fool, haven't you realized why your bond with your wife has been silenced while her body is still living?" At the sudden flash of uncertainty across Auron's face, Leonard continues, "It's not her mind at fault—_it's yours_. You said her psionic skill was closely related to an empath's, so can you imagine what she would feel from you right now? Your unbridled rage, your lust to kill? How could she withstand that?"

"I would never hurt her. _Never_."

"Then give her a reason not to fear what you've become. Do that, and you can have her back."

Auron looks at McCoy; he looks at the human for a _long_ time before transferring his gaze to the pale, too-still visage of his wife.

"What do you gain from all of this?" he queries.

"To save the lives of my friends," Leonard replies honestly.

"And when it is done, what becomes of you?"

_I don't know_, he thinks, knowing Auron will hear him. _I guess, at the very least, my fate will still be yours to decide._

That answer seems to satisfy his captor, for Auron's mouth quirks at one end and he says, "Then let us presume me dead, Dr. McCoy. Tell me, how did I reach my end?"

"You're the mastermind," Leonard retorts, "so you tell me."

And Auron does.


	4. Part Four

"They're not this stupid," mutters a frowning, blue-eyed doctor as he kneels on the floor and unpacks his medkit.

_Must you continue to complain?_

Leonard shapes his retort as a sharp thought rather than speaking out loud: _I believed you to be smart, but this plan of yours seems dumber by the minute. Nobody's gonna believe I overpowered you._

_Did I use the word 'overpower'? I merely said you caught me off-guard—in a moment of weakness, if you will. It was rather unfortunate that the dosage in the hypospray you wielded was enough to kill me._

Leonard cuts his eyes across the room but of course Auron isn't there, not physically in his own body anyway. _Why do I have to be the one who murdered you?_

Auron's amusement is a wispy creature combing through Leonard's thoughts. _One would think such credit would appeal to you, Doctor._

_It really doesn't,_ the human replies and leaves it at that, doubting Auron could understand his reasoning even if he tried to explain. Examining the hypospray he supposedly killed somebody with, a worry niggles at him. He sets the instrument down again. "You have to keep your promise," he whispers. "You have to let them leave unharmed."

_That depends on how convincing you can be._

Leonard might have said something in return, maybe to argue or maybe to beg, but in that moment there is a knock at the door. The Betazoid relays the order to answer it, as if Leonard can't make that decision for himself.

A glazed-eyed man stands alone in the corridor. The emblem on his uniform marks him as an official of the space port. He seems to have difficulty focusing on Leonard although he's the one who knocked to gain the attention, and he doesn't attempt to enter the room. "Doctor... I am Commander Landres. I have come about the..." The man blinks too slowly. "...the accident."

"Accident?" Leonard echoes, only to realize a moment later this has to be part of Auron's plan. He clutches at the doorframe. "Oh sure, the accident. I, uh..." Leonard glances behind him at the mostly bare room. "...the body..."

"Has been taken to the morgue, of course," supplies the commander. It isn't surprising to Leonard that he looks uncertain of that fact himself. "I just came to confirm what happened. The man—Betazoid—was threatening you?"

Leonard rubs his palms against his pants because they are starting to feel clammy. He hates lying, and he would be the first to admit he's terrible at it. "Right. I mean, yes, sir. And not just threatened—kidnapped." There's a sudden spark in his head, like displeasure, and it's not his own. Leonard ignores it. "I was brought here against my will."

The commander's eyes clear somewhat, and for the first time he looks like he might be in control of his own mind. His sharp glance takes in Leonard's outfit and the bruise on his face from where he'd taken a punch. "Starfleet?"

Leonard nods. "I'm Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the _USS Enterprise_."

The man's eyebrows draw together. "This station may be bordering the far-reaches, Dr. McCoy, but we're still Federation-sanctioned. Why wasn't our Control made aware of the manhunt?"

Leonard hesitates, apologizing a bit guiltily _Sorry, Jim_ before saying, "Last I know, my captain was in pursuit. He... has a way of tackling these problems head-on first and calling for backup second."

Landres makes no comment made about that, thankfully. The man steps farther back into the hallway, an implicit invitation for Leonard to join him. "I'll need to take an official statement, and we must contact your ship."

Leonard doesn't move. "I have a woman here who's ill. She has a medical condition that needs to be monitored. She shouldn't be left alone."

"We'll have her transferred to our facility. Granted out here, it isn't much and the staff is minimal but they're well-trained." Landres questions, after a pause, "The woman was another hostage?"

"Wife of the kidnapper," Leonard answers, wondering to himself if it isn't somewhat true that Nola has been held captive by Auron all this time, too. "I guess you could say she was the motive behind his madness."

_Idle speculations, Doctor—we have no time for it_, warns a cold voice in McCoy's head. _Follow the commander._

Leonard lifts his chin with a defiance that the man in front of him wouldn't understand. "I'll leave when my patient leaves. Once she's situated, you can take my statement." He adds quickly, "But be sure to reach out to the _Enterprise_. I doubt they're too far away."

The commander gives him a strange look, opens his mouth as if to ask something else but ends up making a choked sound. His body gradually stiffens, and his eyes return to their glazed state. When Landres speaks, he is too curt. "As you wish, Doctor."

With a slight shake of his head, Leonard watches the man walk away. "What was the point in that?" he asks. When no one bothers to give an answer, the doctor closes the door and turns back to his task, saying as he kneels by his medkit once again, "You'd better not kill that poor fellow."

_Do not ask too much of me, or it is inevitable you will find yourself disappointed._

Leonard suppresses a shiver, feeling eyes on his back. "Do you think maybe you could stop watching me for a single second?"

_Did you believe I would leave you alone so that you might escape or double-cross me? I am not so foolish, human. Your lieutenant stays—and when the time comes, he will be useful to us both._

Leonard hunches his shoulders, not liking the sound of that. In the darkest corner of the room, a shadow breathes. Auron is probably smiling with Yarrows' face, waiting for Leonard to show just how afraid he is. He's made a deal with the devil, and they both know it.

Not thinking of a thing and letting his hands work on automatic pilot, Leonard picks up a cartridge-vial of a sedative, loads the hypospray and dials the dosage up to a setting that would actually come close to killing a person if not counteracted in time. He rises and goes to Nola's bedside, leaning over her with a murmur, and lifts the hypospray for watchful eyes to see. "This should help stabilize her for the move." He positions the hypospray against her arm, careful not to depress it, then finally drops the instrument to the wayside like it's empty.

After an agonizingly slow ten minutes of keeping himself occupied, the loud rapping on the door is what Leonard has been waiting for. He tucks his re-assembled medkit under his arm and tells the man in the corner, "Time to put on your game-face."

Two gray-uniformed people—and a man and a woman—let themselves in, pushing a hover-gurney alongside them. "We got a call for an immediate transport."

"Glad you made it," Leonard says, then tilts his head in the direction of the unconscious woman. "It's for her. I'm her attending physician."

Yarrows steps out of the shadows in the midst of Leonard introducing himself, a tall wide-eyed man in the red shirt of a Starfleet security officer. His look of distress is terrifying because it looks so genuine, like an expression the real Yarrows would have made.

"I'll help you," the young lieutenant offers, earnest, gathering Nola gently into his arms.

As Yarrows turns away to place her on the gurney, Leonard reaches behind him and grabs the discarded hypospray, silently tucking it into the waistband of his pants and covering it with the tail of his shirt. He follows the gurney and med-techs from the room without a backward glance.

[~~~]

Spock stands in the same spot for precisely forty-three seconds, waiting for Lieutenant Sulu to become sufficiently unidentified in the crush of departures and arrivals in the docking arena. They agreed to part ways, for there can be no element of surprise in their favor if Auron's spies see them together. Sulu now has the advantage of the psionic invisibility Spock promised him and cannot be tracked as all these other minds can, so open, so vulnerable like specks of starlight in a great yawning darkness for any telepath to find. He fortifies his own mental shielding as he lingers motionless, to the point that all minds are little more than muted laps of disjointed thought at the edge of his awareness. He could disconnect from the sensation entirely but then he risks not knowing when he is near the two particular minds he seeks.

Trusting that Sulu is enough of a sleuth to find the abandoned shuttlecraft on his own, Spock turns at last for the access fare that leads to the main hub of the space port. While the Betazoid will desire to hide, he will also require a facility that suffices to house the sick. In an outpost such as this, accommodations are not plentiful and rooms made available for extended stays even rarer. None of them, he theorizes, will be luxurious in size or sight, serving only the purpose of efficiency.

Spock unerringly follows the overhead signs which point the way to the visitor's center; there he can gather what information exists on the internal housing units so he can determine where best to begin his search for Auron or, at the very least, where Kirk and McCoy—two Starfleet officers of significant rank—have been hidden from the sight.

[~~~]

Jim thinks he is hallucinating at first. He sees the back of a dark-haired head, the points of two ears, and assumes it is Spock. He makes it halfway across the open platform before realizing he is crazy to think such a thing. Not every Vulcan he sees must be Spock, especially when said Vulcan-shaped figure has a dagger sheath at his hip.

Does Spock even own a dagger?

Jim frowns, his thoughts growing a little fuzzier than they had been a moment ago.

And what would a Vulcan (traveling alone at that) be doing along the border of the Neutral Zone?

Maybe it's a Romulan.

Kirk's eyes widen with speculation. Really, that would be an unfortunate thing to encounter: Romulans wandering around in Federation space, and he as a starship captain being under oath to bring them in when he sees them.

He could pretend not to see them.

That's not a bad idea. Romulan or Vulcan—there's no time to find out. He has only searched half of the hostels in this area which are currently offering bunkers to wayfarers. No one remembers seeing a blue-eyed human, or a half-human Betazoid on her deathbed. He might as well be tracking ghosts.

Jim stops by a structural bulwark and leans a shoulder against it, raising a hand to his aching head.

Oh, what he wouldn't give for one of McCoy's little red pills right about now! And he owes Auron a solid crack on the jaw for this miserable pain.

_Enough whining, Kirk_, he thinks fiercely at himself. _Enough!_ The thought rings painfully across his brain like a siren.

Jim blinks open his eyes, not remembering having closed them, and pushes off the bulwark. It takes a second or two before he regains his bearing in the unfamiliar surroundings. Only once he has stepped down from the platform and is almost to the opposite side does he have the sudden sense of someone following closely behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The hand barely lands on his shoulder before Jim is twisting out from under the grip and around on the ball of his left foot, arm thrown back in preparation to land a punch on the person who just tried to accost him—

—and, embarrassingly, who has now somehow captured his famous right hook and stilled it in mid-air with what must be the strength of a thousand men.

Spock looks back at him from behind his fist, then says with remarkable calm, "Captain, it is pleasing to see you again."

"Spock," Jim murmurs dumbly, "so it was you."

The Vulcan lifts an eyebrow. "You recognized me, yet did not seek me out?"

"No, no, no," Kirk assures his friend. "I thought you might be Romulan."

Spock just blinks at him and releases his fist.

Jim drops his hand to his side somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry I almost clocked you."

"Your apology is unnecessary. I was in no danger."

Jim doesn't know why he is laughing, only that Spock must have told the funniest joke he has ever heard. He is kind of surprised, though, when he suddenly cannot laugh anymore and has to lean on his First Officer for support because his limbs feel detached.

Maybe he has alarmed his Vulcan friend because Spock is asking him rapid-fire questions like "Captain, where are you injured?", "Is this the first time you have lost consciousness?" and "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"That's a Bones-question," Jim remarks about the last one, squinting in hopes the fingers will cease to dance around so he can properly count them. "Stop moving your hand."

"I see now why it is a useful question. My hand is not moving."

"Okay, so I might have a concussion."

"Undoubtedly."

Spock is dragging him somewhere—oh, good, a place to sit down. Jim thanks him and sinks into the chair with relief. "Have you located McCoy?"

"Negative."

Jim has a moment of clarity when he sees Spock pull something out of his belt. "What're you doing?"

"I will try to establish contact with the ship. You require medical assistance."

Jim makes a grab for the communicator and, sadly, misses by a good three inches. "No," he says firmly. "I won't go, consider that an order. We have to find them."

"Your refusal to comply does not constitute an order, Captain."

Jim smacks the side of his fist against a hard surface to show his ire. The surface is a table, he decides, one which wobbles under his abuse. He won't hit it again. "Then I order you to accept my non-compliance as an order, Mr. Spock."

Spock says something about _severe head trauma_ and _immediate treatment_ and Jim lets it all fade away, taking a few seconds for himself to breathe deeply through his nose. Once he feels he has a better handle on his wits—or what's left of them, that is—he makes his command short and to the point: "Then fix me."

As expected, Spock needs a moment to judge his sanity first before replying. "I am not a licensed medical practitioner."

"No, but you're a Vulcan with a strong discipline for blocking pain—and it's the pain making me loopy right now, Spock." He pauses, waving a hand at his forehead. "I've got shields, don't I? Can't you... extend them?"

"It is not the shield which matters in this case. It is the belief that the pain is of no consequence. Pain is a product of the mind, of the way the mind interprets the firing of synapses in the brain in a localized area."

"Then make me not believe in it! You've done it before," Jim almost pleads. "The bullets, Spock—remember? The illusion of the Earps and their revenge?"

Spock's silence is like a shield of its own. All Jim can do is wait for Spock to lower it.

At last, the Vulcan does. "I can plant the suggestion but whether or not it takes root will depend on _your_ belief."

Jim sits back in his chair with a decisive nod. "Do it."

He keeps his eyes open while Spock places his fingers against the side of his nose and along his cheekbone and temple. He trains his gaze on Spock as he feels the connection between them being initiated as it has some many times in the past, like a door opening, and Spock intones, "That which you feel does not harm you. The pain is of no significance. It does no harm."

Jim clings to the resounding belief as he has clung to the sight of the stars since he was a child hiding in a cornfield in Iowa. _Pain does me no harm,_ he repeats over and over.

It isn't until a heavy cloud in his mind begins to lift that he realizes he and Spock are no longer connected in a mind-meld. He is alone in his head, his shield is strong again as if Spock reinforced it, and the pain, his pain...

Means nothing.

Jim blinks, not quite certain how to describe the sensation beyond freeing.

He glances around the station, feeling like he can think clearly again. He stands up, Spock standing up alongside him. "Thank you," Jim tells him. "Thank you for helping me."

"Jim, while you may not be aware of it at this time, the effort to maintain your current state will exhaust you."

"So once I collapse, I'm back to being ordinary. Got it." Jim moves away from the arrangement of tables. "We have to find the others." He pauses and slants a look at the Vulcan. "You came alone?"

"At present, it is only myself and you."

Jim accepts the strange answer and muses with just a hint of hope, "I guess you wouldn't have brought a phaser."

"They are traceable by their energy signatures and easily classified."

"Logical as always, Mr. Spock. But I can't say I'm comfortable walking around weaponless in a frontier post."

Spock starts to remove the dagger from his belt.

Jim stops him with a small smile. "No, keep it. I'll find something. In fact, I thought I saw a weapon's booth around here... maybe we could trade—" His words die out as he catches a flash from the corner of his eye.

A familiar blue, just a glimpse.

Then again. Moving with the crowd.

"_McCoy_," Jim breathes, taken by surprise, then takes off at a dash. Spock is close behind him. "Bones!" he cries once he finally he breaks through the traffic of people and again catches sight of the man in the blue tunic he had first seen.

The person stops short, turning around at the reverberating yell, and for the briefest of moments, Jim thinks he sees the same fierce joy in Leonard's eyes before it is replaced by wariness.

It is that wariness which slows Kirk's pace to a fast stride. "Keep an eye out," he warns his First Officer, going on a gut feeling. "Something's not right."

And now that he can see Lieutenant Yarrows standing slightly apart from the rest of the group who have also halted their progress, head bowed but otherwise motionless, that feeling intensifies.

But feeling cautious doesn't stop him from reaching out to grab a hold of his friend once he can. He gives the doctor's thin shoulders a slight shake. "Bones! Are you all right?"

Leonard answers the demand with a lift of his eyebrow and a quirk to his mouth. "Don't I look all right to you, Jim?"

Jim takes the time to study the doctor with a critical eye; his eyes linger on the bruise darkening the man's jawline. "How do I know you're not—" He nearly chokes on bitterness as he forces out the name. "—Auron?"

"How do I know you're James T. Kirk?" Leonard counters, cutting his eyes at Spock. "How do I know he's Sp—wait, never mind. I don't think the Betazoid has a snowball's chance in hell of getting into _his_ head. And if he did manage it, all I'd have to say is: the poor bastard. Auron—not Spock, that is."

Spock's eyes have narrowed ever-so-slightly. "It seems the doctor is himself, Captain."

"Your concern is touching, hobgoblin."

Those dark eyes narrow just a tiny bit more, which is a sign of serious intense scrutiny upon a Vulcan if Jim has ever seen it.

"I would admit I am shocked you were not ill-used by your captor, Dr. McCoy, were it not for the fact your mind is naturally volatile enough to dissuade contact with even the most skilled of telepaths."

"Now wait just a blasted minute!" Leonard pulls away from Jim. "Of the two of us, who do you think is really the least attractive, Spock? Your mind is probably 'bout as welcoming as a concrete block, you cold-blooded—"

"Okay, okay," Jim intervenes, oddly relieved. "Gentlemen, that's enough. I think we all get the point that you were a little worried about each other. You don't have to shout."

Leonard turns on him, eyes wide. "What?"

Spock sounds as aghast as the doctor looks. "Captain, that is highly illogical. I fail to understand how you could infer—"

Jim flaps away their protests with a hand, intent on steering the conversation back to what's relevant. "Can we talk about what's going on here? Bones, where _is_ Auron?"

Leonard closes his mouth for a moment, looking like he doesn't know what he wants to say.

The hesitation is just enough to sound the red alert at the back of Jim's neck. "Bones?" he repeats, hearing tension creep into his voice.

"The Betazoid is dead."

Jim faces the newcomer with mounting unease. "Say that again."

The man is older than Jim and wearing the insignia of a rank which under any circumstance cannot be readily dismissed.

"Captain Kirk of the _USS Enterprise_, I presume?" A hand is held out in introduction. "Commander Landres, head of Control and the commanding officer of this port."

"Commander." Jim shakes the proffered hand, taking a moment to figure out what the kind of man Landres might to be. "We're in pursuit of a felon—and you say he's dead?"

"The body's in my morgue if that's the way you normally classify 'dead'."

"How?" Jim questions at the same time Spock says, "We need to see the body."

Jim glances at Spock, certain the Vulcan is as unsettled by the news as he is even if it isn't apparent in Spock's flat tone.

Landres shifts on his feet and motions at McCoy, who had grown quiet and unusually still at the man's approach. "Kirk, I think your doctor could answer that question best. I'm interested myself in what he has to say."

As everyone focuses their attention on McCoy, Leonard turns his face away. His admission is almost soft enough to qualify as a whisper: "I guess I killed 'im."

In that moment, everything seems wrong, hazy to Jim. A trick. Maybe the pain has come back or the blow to his head has damaged his ability to understand simple words. Jim doesn't know. "Bones, you... killed Auron?"

The doctor sighs heavily, like a man put through too many trials, and faces his comrades again. As Jim meets McCoy's gaze, he sees that odd wariness is back—and Jim doesn't like it.

Leonard reiterates evenly, "I killed him, Jim."

This is the kind of moment in Jim's life where he wants to plug his ears or fake hearing loss and never, ever have to hear the details. Luckily, the question he has a difficult time managing is one his First Officer has no qualms voicing on his behalf. For some reason, that pains him all the more.

"How did you kill him, Doctor?"

Leonard's mouth thins momentarily. "I got him when his back was turned with a vial of sedative—I think you know from personal experience how sneaky I can be that way, Spock—" A flash of grim humor crosses the doctor's face, there and gone, causing Jim to internally shudder at the memory of the Vians. "—but I miscalculated the dose for a Betazoid. Now he's dead."

Spock scrutinizes McCoy as if he can discern the truth simply by what he sees.

Jim half-turns away, hoping nothing shows on his face as he processes what he is hearing. "And what is this?" he asks, focusing on the gurney and silent, staring audience of a man and a woman in non-descript gray uniforms.

"They're taking her to their medbay," McCoy explains. "You know how sick she is, Jim. It's only gotten worse with this chase across the quadrant." He falls quiet very briefly. "If you'll allow it, I'll see her settled in and set up properly before I turn myself over."

"_Dr. McCoy_," Spock begins, tone almost sharp for a Vulcan.

Jim, watching Landres' impassive face, lifts a hand in a wordless command to halt whatever else Spock might say. He's grateful when the Vulcan obeys him. "Stay for just a minute, Bones—but I think the others can continue on for the time-being."

Landres gives a tacit nod of approval, and the med-techs reactivate the gurney, leading it away. No one else makes a move to follow them.

Kirk focuses on Landres. "I think we will need to see that body, Commander."

"I will be glad to lead the way, Captain, when you're ready."

But Jim steps back. "Not now. First, McCoy and the woman must be safely transported aboard the _Enterprise_."

To his left, there is an audible indrawn breath and a word that might be a curse. Then, "Jim..."

Landres seems unmoved by the request. "A crime was committed in my jurisdiction, Kirk, and I've got a body and a verbal confession to prove it. Doesn't matter how it came about, or why. I have to have some answers before I let your doctor go anywhere, even if it's to sleep in your brig."

Jim concedes, "I'm not trying to step on your authority here, Commander, but an investigation can be conducted from the ship. It _will be_ because as Dr. McCoy's commanding officer and as the person who is, in essence, responsible for the actions of his crewmen—"

Leonard latches hard onto his forearm. "Now hold up, Jim! Murder is a capital crime. You can't just—"

"Quiet, Bones. I don't think you murdered anybody." He cuts his eyes at McCoy. "Unless you want another chance to try to convince me you aren't lying?"

Leonard looks at his captain as if he's grown a second head. "You don't believe me?"

"The day you get careless with another's life is the day I eat my hat."

"Captain," Spock points out, sounding only mildly interested in the burgeoning argument, "might I remind you, you are not wearing a hat."

"It's a turn of phrase, Spock."

"Ah."

McCoy makes the exasperated noise of someone who wants to throw his arms up in the air, except he doesn't and instead marches determinedly towards Landres, wrists held out like he is offering them up for a pair of manacles. Landres' mouth curves at the corners, giving him the appearance of a man who is inordinately pleased to be presented with a new prisoner.

Jim reaches out and snags the fabric of Leonard's blue shirt and firmly reels him away from the commander. At the same time, he orders, "Mr. Spock, your communicator—see if you can contact the ship from here." Then he transfers his fistful of shirt to Leonard's bicep, making certain to hold on tightly enough that his friend cannot shuck him off with ease.

Spock flips open the communicator with a "Yes, Captain" and turns the frequency dial. "Spock to _Enterprise_. Come in, _Enterprise_."

Leonard gives Jim's grip one last, unhappy shake before giving up on getting himself loose. "Jim, listen to me," he insists in a low, urgent tone. "You're making a mistake. You're—"

"In danger?" Jim finishes, voice equally hushed. "You don't have to tell me what I already know, Bones." He glances sidelong at the man. "But what I can't figure out is why you think, even if you did manage to hurt someone and had to stand before a tribunal, Spock and I would leave you here to face it alone."

"Because for once I'd like to believe you aren't a fool!"

He doesn't want to admit it, but that barb truly stings.

Maybe Leonard sees something of the hurt in his friend because his fierce expression softens. Unfortunately his words remain no less stubborn than the man himself. "Jim, you're going to get yourself—and Spock—killed. I'm beggin you, for once don't come charging into the battle until you _know_ you can win."

Jim frowns at him. "We will win, Bones."

But, without warning, Leonard won't meet his eyes.

"Win, Captain?" echoes Landres, the quality of his tone suddenly humming with a familiar ego-centric undertone.

Automatically Kirk tenses and shifts position into a stance of defensive, a blatant warning to anyone who knows him.

Spock has stilled too, lifting his head as he pauses in his attempt to reach the _Enterprise_. Miraculously in that moment of diverted attention, the speaker of the communicator crackles and comes to life.

"_Spock?_" they can all hear Uhura say, "_Enterprise to Commander Spock. We can hear you!_"

Spock wordlessly closes the lid of the communicator.

While the muscles in Landres' neck are bow-string taut, his eyes have a strange glassy quality to them. But his voice is crystal-clear: "No, Captain, you don't win this time."

Jim's free hand forms a fist. "Hello, Auron. You seem confident for a dead man."

"_Damn it, Jim._"

He resists the urge to pat McCoy's shoulder because that would mean taking his eyes off the enemy. "It's all right, Bones. I think he knows this was a plan destined to fail."

"How ironic that you should think so, Captain, when it is your good Doctor McCoy who suggested it."

Jim draws in a quick, steadying breath because he can feel the way Leonard has tensed at his back—and that means there is some truth to the claim. But that will have to be dealt with later.

"We're past the chit-chat," he tells the Betazoid. "I've got a Federation vessel within range and as of now, since it's evident the commanding officer of this station is compromised, I have the right to temporarily assume his duties as the highest-ranking officer present. For the crimes you committed at this outpost, I am remanding you to the _Enterprise_ to be held in custody until your hearing—and that's just with regard to a small portion of the charges you will be facing, Auron."

It is Yarrows who lifts his head and laughs. He doesn't stop laughing.

Landres shakes his head slowly. "I seem to recall we have traveled this road before, Kirk. What was it I said then? Ah, yes... _You cannot bargain with a desperate man._"

"There are no more bargains. Only justice."

Landres unclips the small plasma rifle from his belt, seeming amused, and aims it at Kirk's chest.

Jim just looks at him. "I suppose you think I'm surprised."

"I doubt it. But regardless, you and your Vulcan will step away from Dr. McCoy. I would like to say I can be rid of him at this point but, alas, it seems I have more reason to keep him since you seem to value his life so much. Doctor, if you please, join me and quickly. Otherwise I might shoot your captain. You see, some humans fight a little harder than others when I'm in their head, and this Commander Landres is very angry with me right now. I dare say it might make me a little too jumpy with the trigger."

Jim experiences a moment of hesitation but after a glance at Leonard's expression lets go of him. The doctor circles around Kirk, then Spock, and without a word goes to stand at Landres' side, head bowed.

"Good," says the man before tilting his head contemplatively. "Hm. Which one of you should I kill first?"

"Bones," Jim murmurs, "now would be a good time."

Leonard lifts his head and releases an explosive sigh, saying to the area at large, "I knew I couldn't trust him."

In the next instant, there's a hypospray sticking out of Landres' neck. Leonard purses his mouth and pulls it back out with the mutter, "Huh, I think maybe I did that a little too hard."

The commander stumbles back in surprise, his mouth opening and closing; and then his eyes clear. Seconds later they roll back up into his head. Landres drops to the ground.

Yarrows chokes on air mid-laughter and freezes in place, looking slightly horrified.

Kirk turns to Spock. "Can you take care of that? With any luck, our Betazoid menace will be too tied up to fight back."

"I can, and gladly will." Spock walks over to Yarrows and arranges his fingertips on the psi-points of the man's face.

Leonard is staring down at the empty cartridge of the hypospray when Kirk joins him.

"Bones?" he calls the name gently.

"That fool shoulda known better than to give me ideas." Then the doctor looks up, slipping the hypospray into his pocket, smiling tenatively. "How'd you know I had it on me?"

"I saw it when I grabbed the back of your shirt. At first it was just another puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture. If you were out of danger, why would you want carry one of those as a weapon?"

McCoy's smile turns into a look of suspicion. "You said you believed I wasn't a murderer _before_ you grabbed my shirt."

Jim lifts his hands and gives a little shrug. "You know me... when I'm not sure, I bluff twice as hard."

"Jim!" Leonard's hand darts out and a finger jabs deeply into Jim's breastbone. "You son of a gun, I was innocent!"

Jim can't help it. He grins.

They hear a thud behind them and turn as one to find Spock with a crumpled Lieutenant Yarrows at his feet.

The Vulcan blinks placidly down at the human. "As you correctly assumed, Captain, there was a sufficient grace period between the Doctor's attack and Auron's extraction of himself from Landres' sedated mind to allow me to sever his hold on the lieutenant. I have, for the lack of a more accurate term, placed him in the equivalent mental state of a Vulcan healing trance."

"Spock, do you think we can save him?"

"In the essence of time, I did not ascertain the extent of the damage. Perhaps, Doctor. I can tell you no more at present."

Leonard asks no other questions.

Jim touches the doctor's shoulder in sympathy while saying to Spock, "Have the _Enterprise_ beam him back. McCoy will go with him."

That returns Leonard to life.

"Like hell I will!" the doctor snaps, suddenly irate. "Jim, just because we eliminated a few people from Auron's roster doesn't mean this space station isn't a glorified dollhouse for a crazed telepath! And before Spock goes opening his mouth, _no_, Auron's body isn't in the morgue."

"Clearly it is not, Doctor."

"Shut up, Spock. And if you dare tell Scotty to transport me back to the ship, I'll never speak to you again!"

One of Spock's eyebrows inches towards his hairline. "I fail to see the threat in that statement."

Leonard's eyes narrow. "Then I'll talk you to _death_. I'll come into your room and sit by your bedside at night and repeat every smitten thing Chapel has ever said about Vulcans and their cute pointy ears."

Jim looks pained. "That's... unnecessarily creepy, Bones."

The man cuts his eyes at Jim. "Your punishment will be much worse, believe me."

Jim considers the sincerity of the threat. "...I think Bones can stay."

Mollified, Leonard sniffs. "That's a wise decision, Jim-boy. A very wise decision."

"Happy to oblige," Jim deadpans. "Let's move this along, shall we? I feel like Big Brother is watching."

"You and me both," his friend agrees. "And he's got to be pissed."

Spock relays the order to have Yarrows transported back to the ship and apprises Mr. Scott they found McCoy. To Scotty's "_Are ye sure he's our doctor, Mr. Spock, and not that mad man taken control of his brain?_", Leonard leans over Spock's arm and says into the communicator, "That's right, Scotty, I'm the mad man and now I'm privy to the secret ingredient in your recipe for moonshine you mistakenly told McCoy that night you drank all his brandy! I'll sell it and become rich!"

The response is a gasp and a wail of "_No, ye can't! That's me family's pride 'n honor!_"

"Well, that brandy was damned expensive!" retorts the doctor.

Spock, no doubt nonplussed to be wasting time over an argument about the preciousness of alcohol beverages, closes the channel on them both.

Now, as they walk the length of the eastern corridor of the hub, Spock's brain has circled back to something much more fascinating. "You mentioned Big Brother, yet I do not see the immediate connection to Auron. Who is Big Brother?"

"A reference to a book called _1984_," Jim explains. "Remind me to lend you my copy of it some time."

McCoy snorts. "He'd just say it's another example of the psychosis of the human race. I mean, who bothers with paranoia when the universe is so logical?"

Jim suppresses a smile.

"If you wish to discuss what is logical and what is not logical, I believe this turn of conversation is quite firmly in the latter, given the dangers of our current circumstance, Dr. McCoy. I would suggest you elaborate on where you are leading us instead."

"To the medbay—where else?"

Jim gives Leonard a sharp look. "Auron's wife?"

Leonard nods. "Who better for bait than the one person our mad man can't leave behind?"

"Captain, while I believe Dr. McCoy's assessment to be astute, to take a hostage is unethical and against what we represent as Starfleet officers."

"I don't think Bones means we use her as a hostage, Spock."

"Definitely not that, Spock," Leonard says, glancing at the Vulcan. "If she doesn't want to help us, then we can send her back to the _Enterprise_."

Spock stops walking. "I was of the impression the disease had rendered her unable to communicate."

Leonard looks weary all of a sudden. "She talked to me, briefly. She knows what her husband is doing, and she wants it to stop."

"She wants to stop him," Jim agrees, remembering what the woman had whispered only for him to hear. He makes a decision. "We ask—and we hope for the best."

Spock inclines his head minutely and resuming walking again, hands locked behind his back. As the Vulcan's long stride carries him slightly ahead of Kirk and McCoy, Jim's gaze is drawn to the dagger at the Vulcan's belt.

Not for the first time he wonders, like he did with McCoy, what trump card it is Spock has hidden up his sleeve. But he doesn't ask because he trusts in his friend to reveal that card when the time is right.


	5. Part Five

Leonard's first self-appointed task inside the medical bay is to find the senior officer and corner him. That person turns out to be a woman named Dr. Janie Ryder, who is on the cusp of her sixties and has, apparently, been waiting to corner _Leonard_.

"So you're the man who's been ordering my staff about like they're his own," she says, sounding personally affronted by his audacity.

"Yes, ma'am," he admits. "I'm Dr. McCoy. About Commander Lan—"

"Oh, don't you worry. We received your call. You should have passed the responders en route to his location. I even took the liberty of setting up the preparation for his treatment myself since you were so _insistent_ with your demands, Dr. McCoy."

Leonard gives her a bit of sheepish smile. "I saw 'em. But that's, ah, not what I need to discuss with you. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

The woman's shrewd look, impossibly, grows shrewder. "Are you about to give me orders in my own Sickbay?"

"I wouldn't dare," he murmurs, figuring she is angling for an apology and that he will have to give it to her at some point. He clears his throat. "I will make a suggestion though, Dr. Ryder, and hope you see the wisdom in it."

Her gaze tracks over his shoulder to his friends, who have gone to the bedside of the Auron's wife and are conversing in quiet tones. "I already don't like what's going on in here. We'll see."

She leads Leonard a tiny office tucked away like a back room. Waving him toward a seat, she says, "When I came out here to study frontier medicine, I knew I would encounter some wild things, and in the past twenty years I have. Despite that, I find I can still be surprised once and a while." She perches on the corner of a cluttered desk. "So surprise me."

"You've got a rogue Betazoid in your station."

"A rogue at the edge of the Neutral Zone?" she mock-gasps. "How rare!"

"Yeah but have you had one of them try to take over the station with his mind?" Leonard counters.

He can tell some of her irritation has melted away as she leans back in consideration of his question. "I suppose not."

Leonard shakes his head slightly. "Believe me when I say it's a bad mess we're in."

The woman folds her arms across her chest. "What is it, exactly, you want to discuss, Dr. McCoy? If we're about to go to war, I sincerely hope you are not here to waste my time with complaining."

This woman has brass; he admires that. Under other circumstances, they could become good friends. "When's the last time you had to engage your lockdown protocol?"

When the look in her eyes becomes a demand to know why he would ask, the real conversation begins.

[~~~]

Upon confirming that no one is following him, Sulu slips quietly into the cargo bay holding the missing shuttlecraft and boards it with a stealth he learned young. The interior is dark and cold—but not entirely empty. He spies the long legs of a slumped figure first and waits, crouched by the hatch, as seconds go by. Nothing happens.

The man is gray-faced, cool to the touch, and has no pulse. Sulu bows his head over the body briefly out of respect for a fallen comrade. Another life has been claimed in the pursuit of Auron. How many more lives must be lost before the opposition is defeated?

That not-knowing is partly why Starfleet trains their officers in combat and survival, rather than putting a pretty spin on space-exploration. Because their organization serves as the military branch of the Federation, the uglier side of nature is unavoidable. Hikaru himself tries not to think about it too often. Now is one of those times he has no choice but to.

It doesn't take him long to garner what information he can from his surroundings: several passengers were aboard at one point, they all left in a hurry, and the blood on the back of one of the shuttle seats indicates at least one of them was injured. Also, the innards of the craft have been tampered with, rendering it useless until an engineer can be brought in to set the power source to rights. There is nothing he can do here.

Frustrated, Sulu remains squatted by an exposed circuit board of the helm, pondering his next move. He runs his fingers over the communicator hooked to his belt. Too risky to use it; Mr. Spock will have to contact him.

This side trip has burned up enough time, he finally decides. The Vulcan should be well in the lead. Now it is his turn to follow the path. He just has to make certain he stays hidden until he can give his team the upper edge in the fight.

The sword at his side is a curious weight as he stands, heavier than a phaser yet lighter in his hand. He keeps his fingers curled around its hilt as he leaves the cargo bay for the open walkways of the hub, letting his long stride and his hard features warn the other inhabitants of the station who would make trouble away from him.

It is slightly disappointing, he will admit later on, that no one tried to waylay and challenge him.

[~~~]

"Do you think we made a mistake?"

The question rings loudly in the small area where McCoy, Kirk, and Spock have taken up residence. The med bay itself is not exceedingly large by comparison, although despite its size it appears to be equipped well enough to function during a crisis or a fire-fight.

Leonard turns his head so he is looking at Kirk, who had yielded the second of two chairs to the older man and stands beside it, watching the computer monitor upon which Spock's gaze is currently locked. He repeats the question.

"Mistake?" Jim echoes.

One of Leonard's knees bounces in agitation. "By not sending Landres to the ship along with the lieutenant."

They both steal a glance in the direction of the bay where Landres currently resides in an induced coma. Leonard can hear the soft beeping of Landres' biomonitor. The familiar noise is as reassuring to him here as it usually is in his own Sickbay.

Spock's attention shifts away from the computer while he gives thought to Leonard's remark. "Doctor, if your apprehension concerns the treatment the commander might receive in this medical facility, I would question why you did not insist he be moved to the _Enterprise_ when the time was appropriate. However..." Spock dips his head slightly in understanding, "I know this is not what you meant. I will simply say he may be of more use to us here than aboard the ship."

Jim nods his agreement.

But Leonard presses his mouth into a thin line. "I don't see why you two aren't more worried than you are."

The Vulcan shifts completely away from the console, lifting an eyebrow as he looks to Kirk. For the briefest of moments, Jim and Spock appear to be communicating without words. Leonard is long-used to it.

"Bones," Jim begins, "there's something we want to ask you."

Leonard's knee stops bouncing. He tries to judge their expressions but discovers he cannot. "Fire away."

"Auron has used nearly everyone he has come in contact with, including our men, the port authorities and probably a handful of others we have yet to encounter."

"So why not me?" the doctor finishes easily. "Jim, if I had the answer to that even _I_ would feel more comforted. But he's left me alone so far, with the exception of skimming my thoughts, I think. It must have something to do with needing me to help his wife. If he's in control and I'm not, maybe I'm useless in that capacity."

"The pilot was not hindered in his ability to navigate the shuttlecraft," argues Spock.

Leonard plants his elbows on his knees and leans forward. "Maybe it depends on whether Auron's endgame is to influence a mind or take complete control of it. I agree that the pilot had to be doing some free thinking of his own. The two even had a conversation—which if that was Auron talking to himself, it sheds a whole new light on his sanity."

"I don't think he has any sanity, Bones."

"Me neither, Jim, but back to the point..." Leonard meets Spock's dark eyes. "I've seen you 'make suggestions' before, Spock. Don't you think there's a great big difference between that and wearing somebody like a secondhand suit?"

"The difference is crucial. On Vulcan, the latter is a crime punishable by death."

"One would think they have similar laws on Betazed," muses Jim.

"If I am not mistaken, Captain, the Betazoids do."

"And we all know the man doesn't play by those rules." Leonard purses his mouth. "I don't know, I really don't. It seems to me if he had intended to sway me to his side, he would have done so from the get-go. Instead, we spent a lot of time arguing." He adds a touch dryly, "Or, well, I _argued_. Auron just did whatever he wanted. That's the difference between a bad guy and a Vulcan for you, Jim. At least Spock listens to me sometimes."

Jim drops a friendly hand to Leonard's shoulder. "Spock listens to you more often than you realize. It simply isn't the Vulcan way to be obvious about it."

"You mean, the stubborn-headed way." A twinkle enters the doctor's blue eyes. "And do you always listen to me, Jim?"

Jim smiles, responding wordlessly by squeezing the shoulder under his hand.

Spock shifts in his chair, which from him is a sign of discomfort, and reminds them, "Gentlemen, I believe the current direction of this discussion is irrelevant. We are attempting to discern the reasoning behind Auron's behavior and deduce his next actions."

Leonard resists the urge to the pat one of the Vulcan's bony knees. "Attempt is the word, Mr. Spock. I don't think we'll ever know for certain what makes him tick, unless of course you can get inside his head to take a look."

Spock's forehead creases as if the suggestion is mildly disgusting. "I have no doubt I would find the experience... unpleasant, Doctor."

Jim indicates the computer. "Have you been able to locate him, Spock?"

"Based upon the life-sign readings most closely related to that of a Betazoid, I have narrowed down the area in which he is likely located."

"Where's that?" Leonard asks. Spock shows him a section of the map on the computer screen.

Jim's right hand drifts to his hip as it normally does when he has a phaser there. "Good. That's where we are going, then. Bones, you can stay with the patients."

Leonard stiffens. "Is that an order?"

"Do I need to make it one?"

"You could... but then I would have to remind you _I know you have a concussion_."

At Jim's sudden, wary step away from Leonard's chair, the doctor goes on to drawl pointedly, "Now, you could go ahead and try to deny it, Jim-boy, but with all this fine twenty-third century medical technology at my disposal, I bet you can guess who will be on the losing end of that argument." His gaze skips over to Spock. "And you—I know whatever he is able to hide is half your fault."

Spock makes no remark concerning the accusation.

"What do you want?" Jim asks slowly.

Leonard straightens his slouch, letting them see just how genuinely un-amused he is. "Who says this is a negotiation? If you two wanna go off half-cocked after yet another lunatic aiming to destroy you and leave me behind because I'm not needed? _Fine._ I want to live a long life anyway. But if this is about you thinking something as cockamamie as _the poor old doctor needs to be protected_, I will remind you I am a trained Starfleet officer and a damn good shot to boot. I don't need coddling, and I sure as hell don't need protectin'!"

"Doctor, no insult was intended by either the captain or myself. We are well-aware that you can handle yourself, as you would say, when necessary. Simply, our prerogative is to ensure that it remains unnecessary for you to do so." Spock pauses. "Although it is only logical Jim and I should seek out Auron without you."

Jim, who had been nodding along with the Vulcan's explanation up until that last statement, puts a hand to his face, muttering, "No, Spock."

"I am trained to withstand mental assault. With my aid, Jim has been prepared as well. You have no training or preparation. I estimate the probability that you will be attacked, regardless of Auron's... gentler treatment of you in the past, to be—"

Leonard explodes out of his chair. "I'm going to strangle him, Jim!"

Jim takes Leonard by the shoulders and turns him so his back is to Spock. "Deep breaths, Bones."

"I'm going tear off his pointy ears and beat that confounded logic out of his head!"

"No, no you're not," the other man soothes. "We need Spock."

Leonard growls in frustration.

With a look of _please try to be understanding, he doesn't know any better_ and a final hard squeeze of the doctor's shoulders, Jim steps away from Leonard and leads Spock to another corner of the room. They do not lower their voices; Leonard can hear them easily.

"Captain, given Dr. McCoy's intense violent reaction, I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

"Have I ever explained to the human expression 'foot in mouth syndrome' to you, Spock?"

"Negative... But why would one seek to place one's foot in one's mouth?"

"Just listen carefully..."

Calm, as though he had not been yelling moments ago, Leonard sneaks away while they're occupied. He thinks with fondness what fools his friends are. Sometimes it is too easy to trick them.

Less than a minute later, he has given the signal to Ryder and slipped out of the med bay. In his wake, the double doors hiss shut and an alarm suddenly wails overhead. The speaker set high into the wall comes alive, a computerized voice announcing to the corridor at large: _Medical quarantine activated. Entry prohibited._

Leonard starts on his way to the area Spock had shown him, quite satisfied with himself.

He knows very well Jim and Spock are going to be angry. It will be two weeks of the silent treatment and lectures (the silence from Jim and the talking from Spock because, believe it or not, the Vulcan has more to say when angry while Jim, very much less so) before he is forgiven. It's funny that they never remember how two-faced their doctor friend can be when it matters.

And it really matters this time. Auron won't deal with Kirk, and since Spock is Kirk's right-hand officer, Auron won't deal with Spock either. Blood will be shed, and more innocents will be caught in the crossfire.

Leonard is certain to his very core he has to be the one to face this: to talk Auron down or to stop him. Granted, the notion is dangerous but he considers it stacking the deck in his favor that Auron has yet to take him out of the game. Finding out why that is might be the key to ending this madness.

[~~~]

Sickbays are meant to be quiet places of healing. There is nothing peaceful about somebody yelling at the top of his lungs.

"You will release us at once!"

Janie is beginning to understand why McCoy prefers to be underhanded to get his job done. She gives the fuming captain of the _Enterprise_ a once-over. "My, Starfleet is promoting their officers young these days."

"My age doesn't lessen my authority!"

_It does if you stomp your foot on the floor like that,_ she almost retorts.

The tall, thin Vulcan next to James T. Kirk is a very astute fellow. He attempts to calm Kirk down before the man does something that will break her control and cause her to burst into a peel of laughter. That would be embarrassing for him, she gathers.

Moments ago, she thinks, she did not feel like laughing at all. It is simply amazing how quickly these two can turn the mood in a room. Even her techs are watching the fireworks with avid interest from the sidelines.

Jim Kirk takes a series of deep breaths and completes a very short, very speedy circuit about the bay. When he is abreast of her again, his tone of voice is more rational but no less intense. "Dr. Ryder, with all due respect, I am exercising my rights as the highest-ranking—"

She waves off the rest of his spiel with "You really don't understand, do you, Captain? This is my Sickbay, and _I_ rank at the top here. I'm not opening those doors with a mad man running amok."

"Dr. McCoy is in danger," the Vulcan says.

"I'm sure he knew that when he went out there, Commander, which either makes him a brave man or a stupid man."

"Stupid," McCoy's captain mutters under his breath. "I'll have to demote him."

She picks up her tricorder. It gives a happy little _whir_ upon activation. Approaching Kirk, the woman warns him, "Hold very still. Otherwise the readings won't be accurate."

Kirk pauses in his restless movements to look from her to the tricorder and back again.

Janie offers up a bland smile. "I was told you have a head injury, sir. Since I'm a doctor and this is a medical bay, I think your Vulcan officer will agree it makes sense to treat you."

"Dr. Ryder's logic is sound."

"You traitor," the narrow-eyed man says sourly, but he relents enough to sit down on the edge of an unoccupied biobed as though he is used to giving up when caught between a rock and a hard place. Or maybe just between two stubborn people. Janie doesn't quite know.

Silently, she records the tricorder readings then the output of the biomontior she turns on, and wraps up with the task of fixing the hairline fracture in Kirk's skull while he simultaneously addresses his First Officer and glares at the polished floor.

He is saying, or rather demanding, "Find us a way out of here, Spock."

"That may be difficult, sir, as there is no command you or I can give which will override this Sickbay's protocol."

One of Kirk's hands forms a fist next to his leg. "Then I must have a way to communicate with McCoy before he reaches Auron. Whatever he plans to do is not going to work. You know that."

"He took the communicator. Perhaps I can access Control through one of the loopholes in its security mainframe and re-route a communication channel to a frequency which the device will pick up."

"Do it."

The Vulcan strides away.

"Your blood pressure's up, Captain Kirk," Janie informs him. "Normally I would recommend something to relax you but, since things are as they are, I'll just say suck it up and try not to have an aneurysm."

Kirk isn't interested in her advice. "What else has Dr. McCoy gotten you to agree to besides locking us in here?"

"And besides treating you?"

He does not respond to that, instead giving her a very hard look, one that says he won't move until he has an explanation.

She relents. "We contacted your ship earlier and had some medical supplies beamed down."

Something sparks in his eyes. "Can you re-establish contact with the _Enterprise_?"

She almost feels sorry for dashing his hope. "Quarantine means the transporter scrambler is live. We can call them up, no doubt, but don't think you can have yourself and your Vulcan moved out. You're stuck here for the time-being."

Kirk slips off the biobed. "That may be, but the rest of my crew isn't. I'll think of something."

"Wait," she calls, catching the edge of his sleeve of his gold shirt. "An injury hurts. You seem steady on your feet but you have to have a killer of a headache. Dr. McCoy shared a list with me of the medication you can tolerate, so let me—"

He pulls his arm away from her. "There is no pain."

Janie knows instantly he isn't lying, yet the truth makes no sense to her.

Kirk doesn't give her a chance to respond. He simply walks away.

[~~~]

Jim settles one hand on the back of Spock's chair, still barely able to contain his fury. Pain killers? There is no time for pain killers! He can't afford to take them.

_There is no pain_, he snarls at his mental self, defiant against the faint ache at the back of his head which is already beginning to surface again. Because Spock doesn't deserve his anger, Jim manages to ask evenly, despite clenched teeth, "Any luck?"

"I believe so." Spock's nimble fingers adjust the frequency monitor upon the computer screen through a rapid-fire series of calculations and commands, and the speaker built into the console spits static at them. "This is Commander Spock," the Vulcan intones. "If you can hear this, reply."

Jim is almost shocked by the politeness of the request. He is about to lean over and yell into the speaker _BONES, WHERE ARE YOU!_ when a voice that _isn't_ Leonard responds. The channel feed distorts it slightly but not enough that Jim doesn't immediately recognize it.

"I read you, Mr. Spock."

Jim releases the chair to plant both hands on the console. "Sulu, is that you?"

"Captain!"

"It is indeed the captain," Spock supplies for Sulu's benefit.

"Good to hear from you, sir." Sulu does sound pleased about that.

Jim looks at the Vulcan beside him. "You brought along Sulu?"

Spock has the serenest of expressions. "It is more accurate to say he volunteered."

Suddenly it clicks for Jim. The dagger! He turns back to the man on the end of the line. "Lieutenant, where are you right now?"

"An off-shot of the main hub, Captain. I ducked into a shop when I heard Mr. Spock's voice."

"Smart thinking," he commends. "Your priority is to find Dr. McCoy and bring him to the medical bay."

"Sir?"

Spock says softly, "Captain, as neither Lt. Sulu nor Dr. McCoy will able to enter this area until the quarantine has been lifted, it would be wiser for them to return to the _Enterprise_."

Surprisingly, it is Sulu's voice which rings with disagreement. "With all due respect, Mr. Spock, I didn't accept the risk of this mission just to head home at the first sign of trouble. I can help. No matter who Dr. McCoy is with, I'll find a way to get to him."

Hikaru Sulu reminds Jim very much of himself. But... "It won't be easy." Earlier, he had had no inkling of how he could approach Auron undetected; he still doesn't.

"Actually," Spock interrupts, "the Lieutenant has a greater chance of succeeding than either of us. I recommend you allow him to proceed."

Jim can only stare at his First Officer until one of Spock's eyebrows inches upward. Then Jim tells his helmsman, "You have the backing of a Vulcan, Mr. Sulu. Who am I to say no to that? Proceed."

"Aye, Captain."

Returning the open channel to Spock, Jim moves away from the console but not far enough that he can't hear Spock relaying the location of Auron—and now likely that of McCoy. He allows a moment, just a moment, to feel proud of his crew.

As a captain, it is his duty to lead them into battle when such must be done; to know that they would willingly go into battle without him, _on behalf of him_: he can think of no greater honor. And like most of the captains before him, those he has known personally or read about, he will never feel quite certain he deserves the unswerving loyalty he is given. But he can be grateful for it.

Once Spock has ended the communication with Sulu, the Vulcan rises from his chair and comes to stand at Jim's side.

Jim admits, "This is the part I hate, the waiting. I feel useless."

"Then we must hope our wait is short and in the interim make ourselves useful."

Jim begins to ask _How?_ but has already thought of a purpose. "Nola. You told me earlier you thought you might be able to reach her. Now would be the time to try."

"As you wish, Captain," Spock agrees, and they cross the bay together.

[~~~]

Of all the places to hide, the Betazoid had to pick the dirtiest. Leonard is afraid to look down and see exactly what it is that comprises the puddle he just stepped in.

"If you're around here," he calls out, "can you speak up, for god's sake? This place _stinks_."

"Is that what worries you?" a very familiar voice rings out. "The stench?"

Leonard turns around and squints at a badly lit corner of the corridor. "Believe it or not, yes. The air might have toxins we don't know about, and they could be corroding our airways as we speak."

Auron appears from the opposite direction in which Leonard is looking. Neither his movements nor his speech is particularly hurried. "I would say it surprises me that you are the first to seek me out, but truly I am not surprised."

"Why not?"

"You are a martyr and a fool—more so than those other two call you friends. What echo is it that rattles around in your brain some often...? Ah. _I can't destroy a life to save my own_." Auron's upper lip curls. "Such a _lie._"

Leonard lets that pass. "I'm not here to banter, Auron. I have someone you want." He allows for a pause, studying the reaction that darkens Auron's features. "Not a good feeling, is it, when somebody threatens you like that?"

"Tread carefully, Dr. McCoy. I haven't killed you but that doesn't mean I won't," the Betazoid warns him, voice bitingly cold.

Leonard is far past that point. "Let's not mince words. I would try to cut a deal with you over your wife but fact is fact. You're not getting her back."

Auron's laugh is sudden and loud, and ends just as abruptly as it begins. Leonard takes notice of the way the Betazoid holds himself; it seems wrong, too stiff, just the kind of way he has seen Jim stand when injured and unwilling to admit it. Could they have weakened him somehow and not known it?

Auron's mood has swung back to anger. He takes one menacing step toward Leonard. "I am not _weak_."

"Stop reading my mind already. It'll just drain your energy faster."

Auron bares his teeth as an animal would. "I can still crush you. Even if my body is exhausted, the strength of my mind prevails."

Crossing his arms, the doctor meets his opponent's black eyes. "Would it make you feel better if I flinch when you threaten me?"

"But you are afraid," the Betazoid tells him softly. "You will always be afraid of telepaths. We have hurt you too often, you who are so weak."

Leonard doesn't say anything for a long moment, first staring at Auron then past him. Subtly his body language changes, though Auron does not recognize it, and he nods, saying, "Is that why, then? Why you never turned me into a puppet—because you believe I would crumple at the first touch? I see," he answers his own question. "It's no fun when the prey is too pathetic to fight back." The fire in his eyes glows in fierce contradiction to his words. "You're the most sadistic Betazoid I have ever met."

Auron sneers. "I am what I was made to be."

Leonard barely catches himself before he can start forward, and instead moves back, drawing the Betazoid farther from the overhang of the corridor. He argues, "That's bull and you know it. You're what you _chose_ to be. I don't doubt you've seen hard times, but so have the rest of us in this damn universe and most of us try that much harder not to ruin other people's lives because of it!"

"Don't preach to me about morals, Doctor! I needed you to save one life but you refused. You treated her with the same annoyance you would a flea, and why? Because she is wife to a common criminal!" Auron rages. "You think I will forgive you your ways? Your cold, _human_ ways? As long as I draw breath, _I will not!_"

The accusation hurts Leonard deeply. "I never said I wouldn't help her, I said I _couldn't_. And, damn you, I still tried!"

But it is clear Auron is too far-gone to listen. "If my wife cannot be saved, she can still be avenged!" He advances, an intensity in his face that clearly means he is going to crush the life from Leonard with his bare hands rather than his mind.

There is no other choice. Leonard accepts that. He looks past Auron's shoulder and says, "You can hit him now, Mr. Sulu."

Auron stiffens but it's too late. A solid hit to the back of his head from Sulu's sword hilt knocks him to his knees. Leonard kneels down and injects a loaded hypospray he took from Ryder's Sickbay into the Betazoid's neck.

Sulu separates from a shadow with a smile on his face, already re-attaching his weapon to his side.

Leonard lowers the now-unconscious Auron all the way to the floor, muttering, "That was almost too easy," then looks up. "It's nice to see you, Sulu. I knew Spock had an ace up his sleeve. Boy am I sure glad it was you!"

"That's kind of you to say, Dr. McCoy." Sulu nudges the limp Betazoid with the toe of his boot. "I don't think he'll be giving us any trouble for now. What should we do with him?"

Leonard answers promptly, "Put him on a garbage scow and set it on a direct course to the nearest sun." At Sulu's expression, he concedes, "I know, I know. But I can pretend I mean it, can't I?"

The look in Sulu's eyes grows thoughtful, however. "While a garbage scow would be poetic, a malfunctioning shuttle the Enterprise could tow would be better. I think I know just the one." He gives Leonard a considering look. "I suppose you don't have a neural inhibitor in your pocket?"

"No, but I am beginning to think I might need to carry them around from now on. Good news is I did send out for one back at the med bay—which is on lockdown." He frowns and glances at the motionless Betazoid. "He should stay asleep until we can get it, I think. Is this shuttlecraft empty?"

"It's the one you came in."

"Oh. Well then. That's where we will put him. It would be too risky to leave him any place else. The farther away from people, the better. Grab his shoulders, would you?" Leonard goes for Auron's feet.

They both grunt as they lift the dead weight.

"Heavier than he looks," Sulu mutters.

"Where's a Vulcan when you need one?" Leonard feels the need to quip.

Sulu seems entirely too amused all of a sudden. "Doctor, you do realize Commander Spock is the one who gave me your location?"

"Did he sound mad?"

"He never _sounds_ mad, sir, but I think he might be somewhat... irritated that you left him behind. I reported in ten minutes ago, and when I had to say I hadn't found you yet, he was very formal with his reply."

Formal Spock is not a happy Spock. Not that Leonard is certain he has ever met a happy Spock, other than one or two very disturbing times. "If that's the case, then don't tell me about Jim."

"Oh, he said something about a demotion to floor-scrubber."

Leonard simply shakes his head. "When will that man ever learn? Captains come..."

"...first," Sulu finishes along with him. Their eyes meet with the unspoken understanding that that is a cardinal rule neither of them, nor any of Jim's crew, intend to break.

With a groan, Leonard tries to lift Auron's legs high enough so no part of the Betazoid is dragging across the ground. "Good news or bad news: how far is it to this shuttle bay?"

"We might have to stop for a break more than once."

"Damn," Leonard says, and shuffles on.

* * *

**One part left!**


End file.
